


And I Feel Fine

by Unstoppablei



Series: The End of the World as We Know It [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Season/Series 06, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dean's Terrible Life, Drinking, Dysfunctional Family, Explicit Language, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Explicit Sex, Not Canon Compliant, Parental Bobby Singer, Romance, Soulless Sam Winchester, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-04-25 15:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 98,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4967044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unstoppablei/pseuds/Unstoppablei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is stuck in the wrong reality. In addition to fighting yet another war in Heaven and trying to stay alive, he has to find the woman he loves, deal with a belligerent Dean and soulless Sam, and reunite the three mismatched hunters, whether they want to or not.</p>
<p>Oh, and the King of Hell fancies a chat, Purgatory is prime real estate, betrayal lurks around every corner, and time travel is on the agenda.</p>
<p>It's going to be a long year.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em> Alternate Season 6, fourth (and last) in a series </em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Exile Of Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note #1: Eli is pronounced Ee-lye. Comments/kudos are welcomed.
> 
> Note #2: THIS IS NOT THE FIRST BOOK. This is the fourth book in my _It's The End_ 'verse. If you haven't already, please read _It's The End_ , _Of The World_ , and _As We Know It_ , which follow seasons 4, 5, and beyond, respectively, or a lot of stuff won't make sense. _And I Feel Fine_ follows season 6, though less so than the first two books. About half the book is with the boys, the other half is in the strangest places imaginable. 
> 
> Thanks! I hope you enjoy!

 

**The Exile Of Angels**

 

Castiel sneezed.

It wasn't just the sneeze itself that took him by surprise, but the sheer force of it. Angels never sneezed, especially not this hard, like a hurricane exploding out of him. He reeled backward, flying out of his vessel, his wings unfolding. Just as reality unwound itself he flickered out of the earthly plane, wrapped in grace, completely unaffected by the material world crumbling.

When he returned, his vessel was missing. Castiel, in his true bright and shining form, hovered above the field in a fruitless search for Jimmy's body. He stretched out his mind, finally locating it in what humans might call 'storage'—the transdimensional pocket that angels stored their hosts when they were not needed.

He pulled Jimmy's empty body from its pocket of space-time, and settled back into his vessel with confusion. He didn't understand what had happened. One minute everything was falling apart, all the atoms in the universe spooling out like thread. But everything looked normal: the field was the same, the barrier in front of him still rock-solid and unbreakable. The Archangels were gone. And Eli…

He stifled a gasp. He couldn't feel her. A dull ache radiated outward from his heart, like a chunk of grace had been ripped away, and he realized that their connection was gone, which was impossible. Nothing could wipe away the brand, not even death.

It was only then that he noticed the new power coursing through him, more powerful than it had been before he was cast out of Heaven by the Archangels. His connection to Heaven was newly strong and sure; in fact, he could hear the buzzing of angels in the back of his mind, asking where he was, even worried.

Castiel blocked them out. He didn't know what to do, so he went to Bobby's, flying there as fast as he could. The hunter's house was empty, but he paced through it anyway, calling out Dean and Sam's names. Finally, frustrated and panicking, he pulled out his cell phone and pressed his speed dial.

"Yeah?"

"Dean," Castiel rasped, clutching the tiny phone and feeling a swell of relief in his chest. "Where are you?"

There was a pause on the other end. "…Cas?"

Castiel frowned at the tone of Dean's voice. "Yes, it's me. Where are you?"

"Where the fuck do you think I am?" Dean asked, belligerent. "I'm at Lisa's. And where the fuck have you been? You just vanish on me and then…"

Castiel appeared behind the aggravated hunter, just as Dean was snapping into the phone: "…call me after a fucking _year_ and you…"

"Dean," Castiel said, and Dean spun around, nearly dropping the phone.

"Dude, you can't _do_ that!" he hissed, shoving the phone back in his pocket and looking around nervously. "You're lucky Lisa and Ben aren't here, I wouldn't want to explain to them the man that just magically appeared in our living room."

Castiel narrowed his eyes and surveyed the spacious, neat room. "What are you doing here, Dean?" he finally asked. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"I live here."

"…since when?" Castiel asked suspiciously, his brow deeply furrowed. He paced the room, inspecting it with critical eyes. "I thought that you only visited Lisa about once a month. And how did you get from Bobby's to here so fast? And where is Sam?"

Dean was silent. Castiel turned to him with worry. "Dean, where is Sam?"

"What do you mean, _where is Sam_?" Dean stuttered, angry and flustered. "Exactly where he's been for the past year: In hell. What is with you, Cas?"

"Sam went to hell?" Castiel asked, approaching Dean swiftly and peering into his face, as usual standing too close. Dean stepped back.

"What is going on?" he asked warily. "I mean, I don't hear from you for a year, and then you just bust in here talking about Sam and asking all kinds of fucked-up questions…what's the problem, Cas?"

Castiel ran a hand through his hair, a very human gesture. "I don't know," he admitted. "One minute I was facing down the Archangels, and then something happened. I don't know what. Eli did…something, but I can't find her. It's like our bond has been scrubbed off, but I know of nothing on Heaven or earth that could do that. And now you say it's been a year since I last saw you, when I know for a fact that just over an hour ago all of us—you, Sam, me, Eli, Bobby—were at Bobby's house. You let me out of the holy fire."

Dean held up his hands. "You're not making any sense. Dude, I _haven't_ seen you for a year. I haven't even seen Bobby for a year. I've been living with Lisa ever since Sam went into the pit. And what the hell do you mean you were facing down Archangels? And who the hell is Eli?"

Castiel looked at him with something akin to panic. "What do you mean, who is Eli?" he asked, leaning even closer into Dean's personal space, causing the confused ex-hunter to back up a bit. "This isn't funny, Dean."

"I'm not joking!" he exclaimed. "Cas, I swear, I have no idea what you're talking about. Who is Eli?"

"Eli is…" Castiel said, then faltered, searching for the words. "Eli is a hunter, a Nephilim. She is my mate."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Your what now?" he asked. "I thought you were a virgin."

"What gave you that impression?" Castiel rasped, glaring at him. Dean shrugged.

"Uh, you did. Remember? The night before we snagged Raphael in the holy fire?" Castiel merely gave him a blank look, so he continued. "I took you to a brothel…"

"That is not what…" Castiel began, then doubled over in pain. It was like someone was taking a sledgehammer to his brain, pounding images and memories into his head that weren't there a moment ago.

_**"I shouldn't be here, Dean. This is a den of iniquity."  
** _ _**"Dude, you full on rebelled against Heaven. Iniquity is one of the perks."** _

"Cas?" Dean's voice was asking anxiously next to his ear, and he realized that the ex-hunter was holding him up. "Cas, what is it?"

"Knife," Castiel ground out, scrunching his eyes in pain. "Do you have the Knife? Ruby's Knife?"

"Uh, no," Dean said. "Meg stole it during our last show-down. Why?"

Castiel groaned. "I need it."

"I get that, but..." Dean stopped as Castiel twisted his hand in the air and the Knife was suddenly in it. "...you got it yourself. Didn't know you could do that. Might've been useful, in the past. Cas?"

The angel didn't answer, just held it in his hand and did something that Dean had seen him do once before: rip open his shirt and put the knife-edge against his skin, right above his heart.

"What are you _doing?_ " Dean asked, aghast, as Castiel began to carve sigils into his own skill. "Cas, Cas _stop_ , seriously, this is fucked up man. Stop it!"

He tried to grab at the Knife but Castiel elbowed him away, digging the blade in resolutely. "I can't," he ground out, wincing as the magical blade pierced his usually unbreakable shields. "It's happening now and I have to stop it."

"What's happening?" Dean asked.

Castiel finished his sigil and threw the Knife to the ground, where it stained the crème carpet with red droplets. He put his hand over the bloody symbol and closed his eyes, mumbling in Enochian. A light flared and then died, and when he removed his hand from over his heart the sigil was seared into the flesh like a brand.

"It's done," Castiel said, slumping onto the couch in his unbuttoned shirt.

"What's done?" Dean snapped. "Come on, man, answer _something_."

Castiel looked at him wearily. "I know what is going on now," he said in a low voice. "This world, it's not my world. Or, I am not supposed to be here. Not like this."

Dean merely glared at him. Castiel knew he wasn't making any sense, so he tried again. "I think the reality that I remember is like a…parallel universe. Or, it's this universe, except things went differently. Because of Eli. And she did something, she somehow changed reality so that we never met her, but the moment she did it I…"

"You what?" Dean asked, sinking down on the couch, wishing he had a beer. Castiel sighed and began to rebutton his shirt.

"I sneezed."

Dean leaned his head out and tilted it, like he hadn't heard correctly. "You…sneezed?"

Castiel nodded. "It was quite powerful," he said seriously. "It must have come from an outside force, but I'm not sure what. Perhaps the Antichrist. But it blew me out of my vessel and…perhaps out of _time_ the moment that reality changed, and somehow I am still…me."

"A sneeze blew you out of time?" Dean asked skeptically. He shook his head, resisting the urge to laugh. "That must have been one hell of a sneeze."

"It was."

Dean paused. "Wait, did you just say the Antichrist?"

"Not the one you know," Castiel said dismissively. Dean nearly choked.

"There's another?"

"It is not of import."

"Of course not," Dean said, shaking his head. "We were, uh, talking about your magical sneeze."

"Of course," Castiel said, and paused, trying to put his thoughts together. "In another reality, you and Sam were helped in your quest to stop the apocalypse by a half-angel named Elijah Grant. Because of her, Sam never went to hell, and the catastrophic events leading up to the apocalypse were wiped from the record."

"That sounds great," Dean said, trying to accept the insanity of what his angelic friend was saying. "So why did she change history?"

"There were…complications," Castiel said. "The world was in danger, again. She believed, perhaps rightly, that by changing history so that she was never awoken, so that she never met any of us, she could save the world." He looked at the ground, his voice shaking. "All of the good that she did—undone in an instant. And here we are."

"And you and she…" Dean said with as much delicacy as he could muster. Castiel looked at him with that intense gaze.

"We were lovers," he said flatly. "Bonded. You would call it soul-mates."

"Ah," Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck with awkward motions, still trying to decipher all of this. "I don't know, Cas, this is pretty weird. You've always been the nerd virgin angel, and now you have a soul-mate? What do you expect me to think?"

Castiel knelt and picked the bloody blade off the ground. "You don't have to," he said. "Lift your shirt up and turn around."

"Woah!" Dean said, standing and backing up as Castiel approached him with single-minded intent. "What…what are you gonna do with that?"

"Carve you a sigil," he said. "This reality, it was intruding on my memories, trying to wipe them and replace them with the memories of this world. I stopped it just in time. Turn around, Dean."

"But I don't have those memories!" he protested. "It won't do any good. Cas, put the Knife down. You're acting crazy!"

"Dean?"

A soft voice interrupted the action. Dean groaned and turned to see Lisa and Ben standing in the doorway, their faces white. "Is, uh, is everything okay?"

Dean knew how it must look: Himself backing away from a strange man in a half-unbuttoned shirt with crazy eyes, who was brandishing a bloody knife.

"Fine!" Dean said, his voice a little higher than normal. "This is…an old friend. Cas. Cas, this is Lisa and Ben."

Castiel flickered his gaze to the interlopers. "Charmed," he said shortly.

"The Knife!" Dean hissed. Castiel looked at his hand as if surprised to find the Knife still in it. He hesitated, then put it behind his back as if that could hide its existence.

"If you could please excuse us…" Castiel muttered. "We have some things to discuss." Lisa and Ben just stared at him. "Privately," he added.

"It's okay," Dean said in a soothing voice, walking to them, ruffling Ben's hair and stroking Lisa's arm with clear affection. "It's fine. Can you give us a minute?"

"You sure?" she murmured, eyeing Castiel with suspicion. Dean nodded and said something too quiet to hear. She squeezed his hand and ushered Ben out of the room, her pretty face still pale and nervous.

When she was gone Dean turned around and groaned. He buried his hands in the pockets of his old tan jacket, his shoulders tense, looking strangely old and wearied, like some bright light inside of him had been dampened. "Why are you here, Cas?"

"I told you."

"Yeah, yeah, other reality, some chick, I get it. But what do you want _me_ to do about it? Your little sigil thing won't work on me—I'm not from that, you know, timeline." His voice was hoarse, almost exhausted, despite the fact that outside of the paned windows the sun was just setting on the horizon.

"Think of it like a road," Castiel said, placing the Knife on the glass coffee table and sitting delicately at the edge of the couch. After a moment he began to reknot his blue tie, fumbling, his long fingers oddly graceless. "There is one road, and then it forks in to two: This reality, and the other. Unconnected. We were, uh, driving down that road, and then put the car in reverse, went back to the fork, and took the other instead."

"First of all, Cas, metaphors are really not your thing," Dean said, sitting next to him. "But I get it. It seems straightforward enough." He leaned in and took the tie, deftly finishing the knot. There was a half-smile on his face; the shadowed fear in his eyes was retreating now that he knew that Castiel wasn't there to drag him back in to some kind of war. It felt like a family reunion, helping the beleaguered angel with some simple tasks and feeling inordinately good about it afterward. It was the gentlest intrusion in his new life that he could think of.

"I remember," Castiel said simply, staring at his hands, folded neatly on his lap. His hair, longer than Dean remembered, was sticking up at crazed angles, ruffled and endearingly human. "I somehow crossed that barrier. And I am like…a path, that connects the two roads. While I am alive, that path is open. Information, memories, can now pass through. Because of me, a sigil on your body would open you up to receiving memories from the other reality. You need only accept it."

"I could remember a life I never lived?" Dean asked skeptically. "Not to rain on your parade, but why would I want that?"

"It was better," Castiel said simply. Dean shook his head.

"But it's not better now. I don't know, it just seems like I'd be torturing myself with thoughts of what could have been. I don't want that. I'm happy now. I don't need some other Dean's memories."

"You're not happy," Castiel stated flatly, his blue eyes meeting Dean's. Dean met his gaze with a kind of fierce desperation.

"Yes I am."

Castiel stared at him for a second longer, then dropped his head. "There is another reason you should accept the sigil."

"And what's that?" Dean asked, a bit nervously. He wasn't sure if he liked this new Castiel. Despite all of his power he was so much more _human_ than when Dean had last seen him in the passenger seat of the Impala, right before he disappeared back to Heaven. Emotion was clear on his face, his movements were less stiff and precise, and his eyes had a softness to them that Dean had never seen before. He guessed it was true, that this wasn't really _his_ Castiel, that all that other stuff did happen to him and it changed him, whittled away at his angelic façade to reveal a real person underneath. It was disconcerting, like looking in a mirror and not recognizing the reflection staring back.

"When Elijah returns, I would like you to remember her. It will be a waste of years of close friendship and almost familial love if you do not."

Dean decided to leave the _familial love_ part for later; it seemed too preposterous to even consider. " _When_ she returns?" he asked, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at the bowed head of a very tired angel. "How do you know she will?"

Castiel jerked his head to the side, as if surprised to hear the question. "Because I am going to go and get her."

"Won't that sort of defeat the purpose?" Dean asked. Castiel stared at him blankly. "You said that she changed history because if she met us the world would end or something. Won't going to get her screw up everything?"

Castiel was silent for a moment. Then he slowly and deliberately shook his head. "No. That won't happen."

"Are you sure about that?"

The angel met his gaze fiercely. "Even if I wasn't, I would still do it."

Dean just looked at him doubtfully. This was _definitely_ not the Castiel he remembered. "Well, I'm sorry man, but no one is carving anything in to me."

Castiel stood, towering over him with an intensity that seemed extreme even for the angel. "You must."

Dean stood too, skirting around Castiel. He walked into the kitchen, not even looking behind him, knowing that Castiel would follow. "No must about it," he said, opening the refrigerator and searching for a beer. "I'm not doing it and that's final."

"Why not?" Castiel asked from directly behind him. Dean sighed, cracking open a slightly-dented can of ice-cold beer and drinking.

"I've had enough of some angel dicking around with my memories, thanks," he said roughly. Castiel frowned.

"I am not _some angel._ "

"Yeah, that's why you vanished from the Impala without even a…"

" _That wasn't me_."

"It was!" Dean insisted in a choked voice. "You may have gotten laid, and you may have some different memories, but you're still you, and don't you dare deny it. And I am not dancing around like a puppet for you."

"Dean…"

"Stay the fuck out of my head, Cas," Dean warned, resting his palms on the counter and tucking his chin to his chest. Behind him, he could hear Castiel shifting on his feet, could almost _feel_ the angel tipping his head pensively.

Castiel was silent for a moment. "I suppose this means that you will not help me recover her?"

He gave a short, humorless laugh. "Girl changed history so that she never _knew_ you. That sound like someone who wants to be recovered?"

Castiel let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl. "Will you help me?"

Dean shook his head. "No. No, I won't. I'm outta that business. I have a life here, Cas. People I gotta protect. You want to run around after some chick? Fine, be my guest, but don't drag me into it."

He waited for a response, but all he heard was the rustling of wings. Castiel was gone. Dean closed his eyes, wondering why he suddenly felt like crying.

He didn't hear anything from the angel for nearly two months.

 


	2. Jump at the Call

 

 

Finding Elijah was difficult, to say the least.

All of her barriers were firmly in place, hiding her from everything supernatural—angels included. Castiel had been sent, once, seven years ago, to reinstate the barriers that Azazel had smashed, but after that her whereabouts were hidden even from him. Now that Zachariah was dead and Chuck was gone, he didn't know who would know her location. It was possible that she had simply dropped off the heavenly map, wrapped in layers of blocking magic and anonymity.

First things first, though. He needed to return to Heaven.

From what Dean had said, it seemed that he had been in Heaven for the past year, restructuring and reordering the chaos after the apocalypse. Unfortunately for Castiel, he remembered none of this. He remembered a strangely calm Heaven presided over by two Archangels with rebellious intentions. He remembered running for his life, being kicked out of Heaven a second time, organizing a counter-rebellion with a flamingly gay angel and his demonic lover. None of which had actually happened.

Despite the impossibility of it, Castiel was getting a headache.

He flew to Heaven, trying to get his bearings. It was insanity. Most of the upper-level angels were dead, leaving Heaven a mess of beauracratic confusion. Raphael was causing a civil war. Hell's denizens were crawling the earth in greater numbers than ever and, even more terrifying, mutating. And somehow, in the midst of everything, God's weapons had vanished. The loyal Host treated him deferentially, and he realized that in this world he truly had shouldered the responsibility of fixing Heaven, all by himself. The thought made him strangely sad, this vision of a Castiel without an Eli, reordering the afterlife alone.

God, of course, was still nowhere to be found, but that didn't surprise Castiel much.

As for the players in his personal game, he learned this: Gabriel was dead. Remiel and Sariel were missing—just wiped off the face of Heaven like they had never been. Whispers were that they had fallen, but experience facing down the duo led Castiel to believe that if this were the case it was not voluntary. Aziraphale, thankfully, was still alive and residing quietly in London. The Celestial Fires—the very same that had forged the collar—were cold, for the first time since the big bang, their hearths empty and abandoned. Castiel knew, deep in his heart, that only one Being could put those fires out, and once out, they could never be relit. He let out a silent prayer of thanks. Between the missing Archangels and the doused fires, his quest to find Elijah seemed slightly less insane, like God Himself was rooting him on.

And then the King of Hell showed up for a chat. Castiel sent him away; he didn't want to be poisoned by the demon's lies, the same demon that had convinced Eli to change history, and therefore ruined his life. He didn't want to believe that Other Castiel had been collaborating with a monster, but in this reality he'd believe anything. He tried to ignore the words drumming in his head, tried to stop debating the pros and cons of an arrangement with a demon, and to instead just focus on the task at hand.

Several weeks were spent aligning himself to this new reality and figuring out the tangled mess that was Heaven. He worked incessantly to bring control to the chaos, stay away from Raphael, and relearn everything that had happened in the past year. Once he felt reasonably well-versed in this world's structure and history, and had solidified his place in the celestial hierarchy, he slipped away and descended to earth.

Castiel wasn't sure where to start looking for her. A human would think first to check databases, but he knew that the magic extended even to that, shorting out any attempt for anyone to look her up. His only option was to go to the one place he dreaded going almost as much as he had dreaded descending into hell—her family's home.

The idyllic farmhouse gave the impression of peace: smoke pumping out of the chimney, trees thick with flowers in the yard, overgrown bushes framing the front porch. As Castiel stood there, hand raised to ring the bell, he felt a surge of something resembling guilt, for everything that had been done to this family, for the fact that he was about to intrude on it once again.

He rang the doorbell. A moment later footsteps sounded, and the door opened to reveal a pretty woman in her mid-50s, with tawny hair and warm brown eyes. "Can I help you?" she asked, smiling a little, a demure version of Eli's big grin.

He stared at her with unblinking blue eyes. "I am here to speak with you about your daughter, Elijah," he said without preamble.

Her face fell. "Eli? Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine," he assured her in his gravel voice. "She is a…close friend that I lost contact with. I am merely wishing to find her."

Eli's mother looked at him doubtfully. "You're friends with my daughter? What's your name?"

"Castiel," he said after a brief hesitation. "My name is Castiel."

At that moment, Eli's father appeared in the kitchen. He stared at Castiel with a face so white it looked bloodless, his mouth hanging open at a slack angle. Then his gaze hardened into something dark and angry and cold and Castiel knew without a doubt that this man, this empty vessel, knew _exactly_ what the man in the trench coat really was.

"I'll take care of this, Laura," he said gruffly, pushing past his wife to grab the angel's arm. "Come with me, you flying fuck," he hissed, marching Castiel away from the house and into the yard.

Once they were an appropriate distance from the house he dropped Castiel's arm like it was something disgusting and spun on him. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing, coming to my house, speaking to my wife, asking about my daughter? You dickheads _promised_ me that you would leave us alone! You promised me that you would leave Eli alone, and so help me, you will stay the _fuck_ away from her or I will rip your little fairy wings out with my bare hands!"

He finished his rant, panting with the strain of his anger. Castiel let him stay like that for a moment, let the terrified vessel regain his calm. Then he spoke, his voice very even.

"Charles Grant. You know what I am."

"Fuck yeah I do! You think after everything I've been through I can't recognize…"

"Then you know what your daughter is."

Castiel's words stunned Charles to silence. When he finally spoke his voice was softer, almost defeated. "Yeah, I know. How can I not? I'm not an idiot. I can count the months, put two and two together. When I look at her…I see nothing of me." He looked at Castiel fiercely. "But I love her, and I protect her. That's my job. And you will _leave her alone_ , you hear me?"

"I can't," Castiel murmured.

Charles' shoulders slumped, as if realizing how futile his struggle was. "Why not?"

"Because she has a destiny. She is not meant to lead an ordinary life, and she could never be happy with one. You must know this."

Charles shook his head. "No, that's where you're wrong. No matter what she really is, she's my little girl, and she has a good life. She doesn't need a destiny. She's happy the way she is."

Castiel shook his head. "No, she's not."

Charles leaned forward, aggressive again, his bushy beard giving him the appearance of a wild man. "I know," he hissed into Castiel's face. "I know something happened, seven years ago. I don't know what, but I know it was something bad. Something having to do with ya'll and your world. Eli doesn't remember either. I know how your kind works: You can't do anything unless you have permission. Which means that she must have chosen to have her memories wiped. She must have _chosen_ a normal life over your freakshow destiny. Am I right?"

"It's not as simple as that," Castiel said delicately. Charles shook his head.

"Yes it is. She's happy. So please, don't drag her in to any of your world-ending shit. I'm begging you. Let her live her life. Let her be happy. Please."

Castiel hesitated, torn and almost convinced.

"She's not happy," a new voice said, and both men turned to see Eli's mother standing there with a sad look on her face.

"Laura, what…" Charles stuttered. She stepped closer.

"She's not happy, Charlie, and you know it."

He shook his head fiercely. "No. She's always smiling and laughing, she's got a great life and will have a career…and you…you don't even know what you're talking about, Laur! You don't know what any of this is about."

She shrugged. "You're right. But I don't have to. I know that something is strange with our family. I always have. Eli knows it too. She knows she's special, deep down. And she may smile and laugh but darling…" She paused and took his large hand, callused and worn. "You know that's not what she really wants."

Charles looked at her hand, and his face took on a strange, scrunched expression, as if he was holding back tears. "You don't know," he whispered in a choked voice. "You don't know what they did to me. To us. I have to protect her."

"I cannot…" Castiel started, hesitant to intrude on the moment but desperate to get his say. Both looked at him, Laura with wide-eyed worry and curiosity, Charles with an almost crushing despair. "I cannot promise that she will always be safe. But she will be happy. I will…give my life to make sure of that."

It sounded strange, even in Castiel's ears, like he was asking for her father's permission. Charles seemed to think so too; his eyebrows furrowed into something both deeply suspicious and wondering at the heartfelt emotion in the angel's voice.

Laura was the one who finally spoke. "Here," she said, pulling a pen out of her pocket. She took Castiel's hand and scribbled on his palm, in messy, looping script. "She's at NYU; here is where you can find her. Or in Central Park, if you look hard enough."

"Laura!" Charles gasped, coming back to himself. "You can't just give our daughter's address away to a total stranger!"

Laura quirked a smile. "I think our daughter can take care of herself. And if this nice young man can make her happy…"

"I am not a man," he confessed, in a very quiet voice. Laura held his gaze, her brown eyes thoughtful.

"I know that."

Castiel curled his fingers around the address etched on his palm. "Thank you."

"Laura…" Charles mumbled again, feebly. Laura turned and stroked his hair, standing on her toes to kiss his forehead.

"Darling. Let's go inside and finish dinner. It's almost dark."

Charles turned one last time to the angel, who was tipping his head curiously at Laura, wondering just how much she knew about her husband's history and her daughter's origins. "You lay a finger on her and I'll…"

"If she comes to harm," Castiel said in his rough voice. "I will even let you."

Charles stared at him for one more fierce moment. Then his shoulders slumped and he nodded wearily.

"I guess that's all I can ask."

The couple turned and walked back to the house. Before he went inside, Charles paused, hand on the doorframe, and looked back into the approaching twilight.

The yard was empty.

* * *

Now finding her was easy.

It was a bright day, the sky the robin's egg blue of late spring, fat white clouds dotting the sky. The air in Central Park smelled like wet grass and daffodils, and her hair, when he saw it, was so shining and yellow that his breath caught in his throat.

It felt like he hadn't seen her in an eternity, which, based on this world, he really hadn't. She looked different. Her hair was longer, wrapped in a ponytail at the back of her neck; she was wearing makeup, and looked oddly soft, her arms without muscle definition, her hips wider and waist thicker. Still healthy, but with the curves of a woman who lived a mostly sedentary life.

He knew things about her now. He knew that she was almost twenty-eight years old. He knew that she was in her second year of Graduate school and working on her thesis; he knew that she spoke three languages with the stumbling fluency of a child; that she had traveled the world for close to three years; that she was studying linguistics and international politics and had interned at the White House. He knew that she met her father one Sunday a month at the shooting range, and had a license to own a gun, a snub nose .38 that she had to leave at her parent's house because of New York's rigorous gun laws. He knew that she had taken jujitsu for close to five years and was a brown belt, only a few months from her black belt certification, and that she participated in city-wide tournaments, losing just as often as she won. He knew that she liked to dance, and watch midnight showings of black-and-white horror movies, and kept a small stash of marijuana in her desk drawer "in case of emergencies." He knew that she loved dogs, but didn't own one, that she lived alone, and that she was close with her parents, and loved school and cheap beer and riding her bicycle and baking and playing tag like a child. He knew that she was still Eli. He knew that he still loved her, more than anything in the world.

Many things had changed, but they were all at the surface level. At the heart of her, her very bright shining light, she was the same. And he knew, unequivocally, that she would come with him when he asked. Because Eli always would.

He approached her, sitting on a bench in the spring breeze and eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with thoughtless motions. It felt wrong, to come to her as a stranger, just some man in a park in a trench coat. Anyone with any sense would go running.

"Do you mind if I sit here?"

Eli glanced up at him, choking slightly on her sandwich. "Jesus! I didn't hear you walk up." She laughed weakly, still coughing and covering her mouth with the back of her hand, her face flushed. "You're like a cat. Uh, yeah, sure, seat's all yours."

"Thank you," he said, sitting down, the edge of his trench coat inches from her knee. She took a gulp of soda and kept eating her sandwich, but he caught her stealing furtive glances in his direction every once in a while.

"It's a beautiful park," he finally said, and she jolted again.

"Um, yeah, it is. Big too." She laughed, weakly, her cheeks a furious red. Castiel realized suddenly that she was displaying the signs of nervous attraction, and he smiled inwardly.

She fidgeted for a moment more, before putting down her sandwich, turning to him and asking: "Not to be forward, but, um, do I know you? Because you're very… _familiar_ to me, but I can't place it."

He rested his hands on his knees and looked at her with a serious, unblinking gaze. "It's…complicated," he said finally. She frowned.

"So I _do_ know you?"

"Not in so many words, no," he admitted. "But I have been searching for you, Elijah. I have come a very long way to find you."

She seemed torn between blushing and freaking out. "How do you know my name?" she asked in a shaky voice, but there was something buried in her tone, something familiar that he recognized and clung to. It was like she had been _waiting_ for this.

"I know…" he started, then paused, trying to put his thoughts together. "I know that you have been waiting for something your whole life. I know that deep down, Elijah, you know that you are different. Special. I know that, while you may appear happy on the outside, living this ordinary life is killing you. I know that you seek out struggle and strife and pain to feel alive. And I know that you've always felt ashamed of these things, of not fitting in and being happy with the life that you have. That you feel guilty for not being thankful enough, but that you can't help yourself. The call is too strong, the voice inside of your head telling you that you are meant for _more_."

She was silent, her mouth hanging open at a slack angle, so he continued, pulling from his memory things that she told him about her life before hunting. "I know that when you were a child you used to sit on your roof and stare at the stars and _pray_ for something to happen to you, for a destiny. I know that the only moment you ever truly felt alive was when you knocked a gun from an attacker's hand in a dark parking lot and cheated death. I know that sometimes when you sleep you have dreams, whispers that speak to you and tell you that you have a job to do in this world. You do."

Her jaw trembled as she closed it, her eyes blinking furiously, her hands shaking. There was the sense of deep relief on her face, like she had been waiting patiently for this moment for almost twenty-eight years and didn't know how to react now that it was here. "Oh," she murmured, wetness brimming on the edges of her lashes. _"Oh."_

"Do you believe me?" he asked in a throaty voice. She looked at him, her face white, breathing hard through her nose.

"How do you…" she started.

"My name is Castiel," he said calmly. "And I am an angel of the Lord."

Eli studied him for a long moment, but the skepticism on her face was fake, like she felt that she _should_ be skeptical and was trying to force herself to be. "Why should I believe you?" she finally asked. "I mean, some crazy guy sits next to me in Central Park and starts telling me that he is an angel and that I have a _destiny_ …"

"Because you do," he said. "And I am."

She looked blank, then slowly nodded. "Okay."

Castiel raised his eyebrows, a little surprised. "Okay?"

She bit her lip. "I mean, I'm gonna need proof, or something, and I'm not an idiot and I don't want to be taken advantage of or pranked and I'll have you know I have a knife in my coat pocket and I will not hesitate to shank your ass if you try to hurt me. And I'm not going into any dark alleys with you or getting in a car with you or anything like that."

She fell silent. He nodded encouragingly. "Go on."

Eli took a deep, shaking breath. "But if there's even the tiniest chance that you are not completely insane, then I have to take it. I have to try. I've been waiting for so long for something to happen for…for someone to come for me and tell me…" She trailed off again, then tucked her hair behind her ears and continued. "I can't walk away and be skeptical now. Not when it's happened. Because if I do, if I listen to logic right now over the slim chance that you are telling the truth, then I will regret it for the rest of my life. I have to believe in something. I can't walk away and know that I might have missed my chance. That I didn't even _try._ And…"

This last word slipped out, and she seemed surprised that it had, her eyes open and staring like it was now hovering in the air between them. She shifted her gaze to his blue eyes, iridescent in the sunlight. "I think…it's like…I know you. Like I've always known you but I just…forgot." She reached out as if to touch him and then stopped, embarrassed. "Now I'm the crazy one," she muttered, putting her hands in her lap and staring down at them.

Castiel surprised her by grazing his long fingers against her cheek and lifting her chin to look at him. "You are not crazy," he said seriously. "And if you would like proof, I can give you proof. And explanations. You will come with me?"

She hesitated for a heartbeat. "Yes."

The sound of wings wrapped them up, and the bench was empty.

 


	3. Three Idjits And A Baby

 

 

Dean was in the garage doing a routine check on the Impala when the doorbell rang.

"Ben!" he shouted, still half-under the car. "Get the door!"

"He's at soccer practice," Lisa reminded him in a sing-song voice from the kitchen. "And don't holler. I'll get it."

He made some grumbling response as she walked away. Lisa smiled, rolling her eyes, and opened the door.

Standing on the front stoop was a woman with bright green eyes, long yellow braids under a knit cap, and a milky-way of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She was wearing jeans and a beat-up bomber jacket with a sweatshirt under it, and old sneakers, a green military backpack slung over her shoulders. "Hi," the woman said, a little nervously. She peered around Lisa as if expecting to find someone else there. "Is…uh…I'm sorry, does Dean Winchester live here?"

Lisa raised an eyebrow at her, giving her a once-over. "Yeah. And you are…?"

"Um," the woman stuttered, wrinkling her nose in a gesture that made her look years younger. "We have a mutual friend."

Lisa watched her for a moment, but the woman wasn't any more forthcoming. Finally she smiled and stepped aside. "Come on in. I'll go get Dean, he in the garage."

"Thanks," she said with apparent relief. She followed Lisa into the crème colored hallway, clutching the straps of her bag. "You have a beautiful home."

"Thank you," Lisa said, leading her to the kitchen. "We just moved in a few weeks ago. Why don't you take a seat." The woman nodded and swung her heavy backpack off, sitting at the kitchen table and looking around with interest. "Would you like a drink?"

"You have any beer?" she asked hopefully. Lisa raised her eyebrows.

"It's 11AM."

"It's been a hell of a week," the woman said, smiling wearily. Lisa nodded.

"Okay then." She got a can of beer from the fridge, handed it to the woman, and went to get Dean. He came, grumbling but curious, hands and shirt stained with grease.

Dean went straight for the sink, washing his hands as he eyed-up the woman. "You wanted to see me?" he asked, drying them on a towel. The woman nodded.

"Yeah, hi," she said, standing up and holding out her hand to Dean. He took it, grasping it firmly. "I'm…"

"Oh, jeez, I didn't even ask your name," Lisa suddenly said. The woman flashed her a smile.

"That's okay. I'm Eli. Eli Grant."

Dean stopped mid-shake, tightening his hand around hers with sudden intensity. "Wait, Eli? _Eli_?"

She nodded.

"And we have a, uh, mutual friend?" he asked, peering at her with narrowed eyes. "Let me guess: trench coat? Voice like a cement mixer?"

"I like his voice," she said, affronted. "Can you let go of my hand now?"

He dropped it. "Lisa, can you give us a minute alone?" he asked, still staring at Eli. "Eli here and I gotta talk."

"Seems to be happening a lot lately," Lisa said dryly. "I'll go pick up Ben from soccer."

Dean waited until she was safely out of the house to turn and face Eli with a glower worthy of Castiel. "What the _hell_ are you doing at my house?" he growled. He grabbed her shoulders like he wanted to shake her, digging his fingers into her skin. "Who are you, really?"

"I told you," she said, squirming under his grasp. "Let me go!"

He dropped her shoulders and she immediately skittered away from him. "You're the chick? The one Castiel was blabbering about? I thought you didn't remember anything."

Eli jutted her jaw out. "I don't remember anything. Cas came to get me."

"And where is he now?" Dean asked, looking around as if expecting the angel to pop up. She shrugged.

"I don't know. He sent me here, said I'd be safe with you until he got back." She stared at him accusingly, rubbing her shoulder.

"You have any idea when that will be?" Dean asked impatiently. She shook her head.

"No."

"Great," he groaned, rubbing his eyes. "That's just fucking great." Then he opened his eyes. "Wait. You don't…you don't know anything about this other world that he was talking about?"

"Just what he told me," she said warily, as if expecting him to go off again. Dean merely frowned.

"Then why are you here?"

"I told you," she said, as if speaking to an idiot. "He came and got me."

"You're saying that…what, a dude just walked up to you and said he was an angel of the Lord and you two bumped uglies in a parallel universe and you should come with him to fight evil and you just said…okee dokee?" Dean asked with disbelief.

"Wait, we did _what_?" she asked, her voice ratcheting up an octave on the last word. "Dude, nothing was said about…" She coughed, looking flustered. "I don't…I don't know. Fuck. I'm…I'm out of my depth here, okay? It's not every day that an _angel_ sits on a park bench next to you, says you have a destiny, then whisks you away to the _mother fucking Himalayas_ to prove his point!"

Dean raised his eyebrows and leaned forward. "The Himalayas?"

"Yeah, without oxygen, I might add. Then we had tea with Buddhist monks in Tibet while he explained about the whole _parallel dimension, time-changing_ thing."

Dean grabbed her arm again, forcefully propelling her out of the kitchen and into the sitting room. He pushed her onto the couch, then sat down next to her and fixed her with a too-intense look. "Okay. Tell me exactly what he said to you."

"Umm…" Eli pursed her lips, trying to remember it all. "The Supernatural exists. You guys hunt it. I did too, but because of imminent danger ended up changing history so that I never did any of that stuff. My father is really the Archangel Michael…the most unbelievable thing about all of this, I gotta say, but when you're dealing with a real live angel you tend to take his words at face value. Anyway. Uh, the world was saved, someone named Sam went to hell, and for some reason Castiel is the only one who remembers all of this." She stopped, then shrugged. "That's all I got."

Dean was flabbergasted, a word he wouldn't usually use to describe himself. "But why are you _here_?"

"He said it was important."

"But why did you listen to him?" Dean asked, frustrated. "Why didn't you go running in the other direction?"

She hesitated, then smiled wryly, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "I've always wanted to be important."

"God," Dean moaned, putting his head in his hands. "First Sam comes back, and now I'm…what, stuck babysitting you until Castiel decides to get his feathered ass back down here?"

"Heaven is in anarchy," she said quietly. "He said I would be safe here."

"Look, lady, I get it, okay?" Dean said, shooting her a glare. "You probably think this is all pretty cool, right, like a nerd's wet dream, angels and destinies and crap. But it sucks. And now I'm so fucking far out of my depth, with my brother back from hell and dead relatives walking and now you thrown at me like a stray puppy, that I'm gonna need a little bit more than _he said I would be safe here_. What's the plan? When is he coming back? What the _hell_ do you have to do with any of this, with our lives?"

"I don't know!" she snapped, frustrated. "And I would appreciate it if you didn't…"

"You have to know something!"

"I don't! I'm just supposed to be here!"

"No you're not!" he yelled, standing. "You're not! You forfeited that right when you changed history! See, Cas gave me a little history lesson too. If you hadn't fucked things up, Sam would never have gone to hell, and my life wouldn't be in fucking _shreds_ right now! So excuse me if I don't want you in my house or in my life!"

The room was absolutely silent. Eli just stared at him with huge eyes and sat perfectly still, like if she didn't move he might forget that she was there. Finally she opened her mouth.

"I'm sorry," she said in the tiniest of voices. "I didn't…I don't have any control over what I did…then. I just…I want to make it up by being here now. By helping. That's all I want to do. Help."

"I think you've helped enough," Dean said coldly. She sighed, slumping her shoulders.

"Cas said I should stay here…" Her voice went even quieter, edged with shame and guilt. "I don't have anywhere else to go."

Dean stared at her for a long moment, her bowed head and clenched fists; he thought of the battered rucksack that was still in the kitchen, all of her worldly possessions in one cramped bag. Everything else in her life she had left behind. For what? What did she think she was going to do?

"Take the couch," he finally said in a gruff voice. She looked up at him, surprised, and he held up a finger. "This is temporary. Don't get comfortable. The minute I find somewhere else for you to stay, you're gone. Understand?"

She nodded. "Thanks."

"Just…don't talk to me," Dean muttered, and stomped back to the garage.

* * *

Dean already knew his life sucked. His life sucked big-time. His life could be a poster for sucking.

Then Sam called.

"I'm thirty minutes away, and I will drive to your door if you don't meet me."

_Fuck._

"What's so nuts you gotta threaten a damn drive-by?" Dean asked, standing in his darkened house with his lone can of beer, feeling more exhausted than he had in a long time.

Sam told him. Dean's eyes widened.

"Ok, fine. I'm there. But I'm bringing something for you, too."

* * *

Dean pulled onto the side of the road, Sam's damn ugly charger staring him in the face. He got out of the car, the still-surreal image of his brother walking up to meet him.

"Where is it?" Dean asked. Sam jerked his head to the car.

"Strapped down in the backseat."

Dean leaned over and peered through the open window at the chubby face inside. Behind him, Sam smirked.

"Welcome to the party, Gutenburg."

Dean stepped away from the car and groaned. "Shit. What are we going to do?" He paused, waiting for an answer. "Sam?"

Sam wasn't looking at him; instead, he was peering at Dean's truck with a furrowed brow. "Dean, is there someone in your car?"

As if on cue the passenger-side door creaked open and a hesitant female voice asked: "Uh…can I come out of the car now?"

"Dean?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow at his brother. "You… _brought_ someone? Who?"

"Yeah, get your ass out here," Dean yelled. "I'll explain everything," he muttered to Sam as the shadow approached them in the darkness. "And man, is it fucked up."

Eli drew closer, close enough that Dean could see her freckles in the dark. Her hair was in braids, one of Lisa's hats on her head, and despite her jacket she was shivering in the cool night breeze. "Sam," Dean said with resignation. "This is…"

"Eli," Sam breathed. Dean jerked his head to look up at his brother, who was staring at the woman with a look of rapt shock. "I don't believe it. Eli."

With two steps he was on her, pulling her into a bear hug and lifting her off of her feet. "Holy shit, Eli!" he laughed, and it almost sounded like a real laugh. He put her down, not noticing that she had the look of a frightened rabbit, eyes huge and jaw slack. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought…I thought you didn't remember anything. I checked up on you, you know, right after I got out, and you seemed so normal, and I never thought…" He hugged her again, pressing her face into his chest. "I never thought I'd see you again. Fuck, I'm glad to see you. This is…you are gonna be able to help so much, I'm not even joking. Everything's shit, we could use your powers."

"Okay, two things," Dean said loudly as Sam dropped Eli. "One, you know this chick? And two, you greeted her like, ten times more enthusiastically than you greeted me. Not to be a bitch, man, but that's a little weird."

"I don't know what happened," Sam said, stepping back so that he could address both of them. "I think it had to do with being in the Pit. That level of hell…it's way down there. Beyond space, beyond time…I saw things that you wouldn't believe. Glimpses of other realities. And even though history changed, when I went down there…I remembered. I remembered everything."

Dean shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and scuffled the toe of his boot in the dirt, resisting the urge to kick the tire of Sam's stupid car. "Well, that's just great. Now you _and_ Cas have jumped on the crazy train."

Sam shook his head, smiling a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's not crazy. It's…it's a miracle."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, so you say. But wonder-girl here doesn't remember it. So it seems your 'miracle' is little more than useless baggage at this point."

"Hey!" Eli snapped, crossing her arms and failing to look intimidating. "I'm right here!"

"Oh believe me, I'm aware," Dean said coldly.

"Wait," Sam said, holding his hands up and turning to Eli. "You don't remember?" She shook her head and he narrowed his eyes, looking strangely intimidating under the dim light of the moon. "Then why are you here?"

She coughed, tugging on one pigtail awkwardly. "Uh…because Cas asked me to be?"

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"She'll remember eventually," Dean said in a flat voice, leaning on Sam's car with a sigh. "Cas has some kind of sigil thing he said can make us remember…came at me with the Knife in front of Lisa and Ben like a fucking serial killer."

"Did you let him?" Sam asked. Dean gave him an incredulous look.

"Hell no! I'm not letting angel boy carve into me so I can remember some bullshit world that never even existed. Are you nuts?"

"Dean, you have to accept that sigil," Sam said evenly. Dean shot him a scowl, his jaw jutting out belligerently.

"No fucking way."

" _Dean…_ "

"So what are we gonna do about this baby situation?" Dean asked, nodding to the open car window. Sam gave him a long, hard look, then sighed and accepted the change of subject.

"Keep it, for now. It's the only thing to do. I'm sure Samuel will come up with a solution eventually."

"Oh yeah, because we trust him so much," Dean muttered.

"Dude, what is up with you?" Sam asked, scrutinizing his brother with strangely flat eyes. "You're being a dick about everything."

"Nothing," Dean said morosely. "Look, I'm with you on this, but I gotta go explain to Lisa that I'm leaving and hope she doesn't come to her senses and kick me out forever. So if you'll excuse me, I've got a relationship to ruin." He pointed at Eli. "Your shit's in the back seat. Grab it. Cas wanted you safe, no safer place than with my little brother. You're off my hands."

Eli nodded. His words and constant insults were starting to sting, but she just squared her shoulders and curled her upper lip into a sneer. "Fine by me. At least he's not a total douchebag."

"Bite me, Blondie," he snapped.

She bared her teeth. "If that's your kink."

From inside the car, the baby began to wail.

"That's my cue," Dean said. He walked to his truck, pulled Eli's bag through the open window, and tossed it to her. She caught it, fingers gripping the musty green canvas like it was a lifeline. He smirked at her and got into the driver's seat.

"See you soon," he said, revving the engine, and pulled out, leaving a cloud of dust behind him.

Eli watched him go, staring after his dimming lights until they disappeared around a corner. The night was hush with the sound of the wind through the alfalfa fields and the fierce bright moonglow overhead. She turned, staring up at Sam's tall figure, immobile in the shadows, long and dark and somehow insubstantial. The baby had stopped crying.

Finally Sam moved, shifted, jerked his head to the car. "Come on. We got work to do."

 


	4. Alpha and Omega

 

 

The baby was quiet in the backseat. Eli was quiet in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the fields flying by, the trees shadowed and distant, branches still thick with leaves, the landscape eerie and silver in the moonlight.

Sam was quiet in the driver's seat, for a while. He just drove, and there was something oddly still about him: he didn't drum his fingers on the wheel, or scratch an itch, or twitch his shoulders. He just drove, steady, never over the speed limit, eyes straight ahead, watching, analyzing. It freaked her out, just a little bit.

"I want you to know," he finally said, breaking the silence, "that I forgive you."

She turned her gaze from the world outside the window, where fat houses of suburbia were replacing the gently rolling hills. "For what?"

He didn't look at her. "For changing history. For sending me to hell." She was quiet, so he continued. "I remember… I know that we talked about it beforehand, that you presented me with the option and that I said yes. That was my choice. But hell…it's a whole other level of bad. It's nothing you'll ever be able to understand. And I went there, because of you. Because of us. Because I said yes when I could have said no."

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked quietly. He looked at her for the first time, just the quickest glance out of the corner of his eye. The car was so dark that she almost missed it.

"I'm telling you because you're gonna remember, and when you do, I want you to know that I don't blame you, or hate you for what you did. It was the only viable option at the time; I understand that. And with Dean acting the way he is, I thought you would like to know that I'm glad you're here. And it sucks, but I forgive you."

"Oh. Um. Okay," she said softly. Ahead of them, the road rolled under the headlights, smooth and flat and forever. "And, uh, if it makes any difference, I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "Don't be. You did what you had to. I get that. And now you're here, and you'll get your powers back and remember and help us and it'll…it'll make up for it."

"Yeah," she said softly, watching the light from streetlamps fly across her hands, folded and clenched in her lap. "When I remember."

Sam jerked his head to look at her. "Cas gave you the sigil, right? I mean, that's why you're here. So you can be who you were."

"He offered, yes," Eli said slowly. "But I didn't accept."

The car swerved a little, Sam's grip white on the steering wheel. _"What?_ Why not?"

"I…"

"Eli, you _have_ to accept that sigil," he said harshly.

"I…I will!" she said, her voice going up an octave. "I just…"

"Do you have any idea how important this is?" Sam snapped. "What this could do for us?"

"Will you let me speak!" she said loudly. He shut his mouth, staring resolutely at the road, his shoulders stiff and tense. "I can't accept it right now. I just…I can't."

"Why not?" he asked in clipped tones.

She tugged on one of her pigtails, finally pulling the rubber band out and winding her hair between her fingers. It was longer than it had ever been, and stretched down to her breasts in a fine, easily-tangled mess of yellow. "I'm going to," she promised. "Eventually. But Sam, you've got to understand. Three days ago I was a student working on my thesis and about to get my MA. I didn't have even the slightest idea that the monsters under the bed were real, that any of this existed. And now I've got an angel at my back and I've been dragged into this world where everyone keeps telling me that I used to be someone special, someone better. That once upon a time I was this strong, kick-ass warrior who could kill demons and _teleport_ , for fuck's sake. It's like the me now is…nothing, compared to her. And everyone—Cas, you, probably even Dean—wants me to change into this person who I'm so not. I guess I'm afraid that, if I do it, I'll somehow…lose myself. Lose who I am now, be completely swallowed up by _her._ I need time, to figure all this out. To figure out who I am, who I want to be. Does that make sense?"

"I hear you, Eli," Sam said quietly. "I really do. But you _can't_ waver right now. We are in the middle of something that none of us have ever seen. Being with us, fighting this war, it's gonna be dangerous. You have to be able to hold your own."

"Please, Sam, just give me time," she said, trying as hard as she could not to sound pleading.

He was silent for a moment. "Eli, if you don't do this, people could die. People _will_ die."

"I've made up my mind," she said. "I'm waiting until I figure all this out."

"You're the one who decided to come back!" he suddenly snapped. "You could have said no to Cas but you didn't! You let a _stranger_ talk you in to leaving your life behind, and for what? So you could sit on the sidelines and not even be able to help? Are you that selfish?"

"I don't think it's selfish to not want to _lose myself_ to some other incarnation of me!" she said, raising her voice to match his. He swung on her, taking his eyes off the road, his face dark and twisted in the blackness of the car.

"It is when you're at war!"

His shout woke the baby, who began to wail, great gasping sobs. Eli winced and held her hands over her ears.

"Shit," Sam said, glancing back at the red-faced infant. "Do you know anything about…"

"What, because I have a uterus I know about kids?" she hissed. "Hell no. You woke him with your yelling. You deal with it."

He sighed, pulling the car into a motel parking lot. Eli immediately unclipped her seatbelt and opened the door, but his hand stopped her. She hesitated and turned back to him, and fingers tightened around her arm.

"We'll talk about this later," he promised in a low voice. Behind them, the baby was still wailing.

"Yeah, sure," she said, yanking her arm out of his grip. "But I get my own room, 'cause I just met you and already you're freaking me the hell out. Have fun baby-sitting."

He stepped out of the car just when she did. "I'll come wake you in four hours for your shift."

Eli didn't turn around, just waved her hand in the air and kept walking. Sam sighed and opened the car door to stare at the shrieking red face inside.

"I guess it's just you and me for the next four hours," he muttered, picking the baby up like it was a bomb about to explode. "Great."

* * *

When Dean rejoined them the next morning, Eli learned two things:

One, Shapeshifters were real and ridiculously terrifying, as evidence by the way one attacked in the grocery store, causing Dean, Sam, and Eli to sprint to Sam's car like hellhounds were at their heels.

Two, Dean was good with babies. Even for Eli, that was the weirdest thing she'd seen all day.

When Sam went to interview the husband of one of the deceased women, Eli chose to stay with Dean and the newly-named Bobby-John. She said it was because she had no fake ID and no idea how to pretend to be an FBI agent, which was true. But really, it was because something about Sam's too-intense face gave her the heebie-jeebies, and she didn't want to be alone with him in a car again.

"Looks like it's you and me, then," Dean said, stretching out on the mattress with his shoes still on. "Hey, drop a quarter in the machine, will ya? I need some relaxation."

Eli rummaged in her wallet for some change and dropped it into the slot; the bed began to vibrate. Dean closed his eyes and put his hands behind his head. "That's the stuff."

Eli lingered by the cradle, watching the sleeping infant. Babies really were cute, she mused, when they were unconscious. "Hey, Dean," she said.

"Hmm?" Dean sounded half-asleep already.

"I'm sorry," she said, and he cracked an eye open. "For whatever it is I did…here or in the other life. I didn't mean to intrude on your life, really I didn't. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I just saw a chance and I grabbed it. I didn't think…"

"No, you didn't," he said gruffly, closing his eyes again and settling himself down on the bed. "But I guess I shouldn't have given you so much shit for it. Sam coming back, then you…it's been a weird couple weeks. We just gotta keep our heads down and take it a day at a time, and we'll…we'll get through it."

"Yeah," Eli said, blinking back sudden tears, though she didn't know why. "We'll get through it."

"You hear from Cas at all?" he asked, his voice thick with comfort as the bed rumbled beneath him. Eli bit her lip.

"No."

"Too bad. We could use his help with this whole baby ordeal." He snorted, amused. "Can you imagine him with a baby? He'd probably try to preach at it."

Eli laughed a little. "I know, right? He'd say: _Be quiet now, I am an Angel of the Lord…_ "

" _It is my duty to change your diaper,_ " Dean said in a passable impression of Castiel's gruff voice. He chuckled. " _You should show me some respect."_

There was a brief calm moment when both of them laughed, tiny pressed down gasps of air that left them shaking. Then the baby exploded.

Eli, who was still standing over the crib, got a face-full of it.

"Oh holy mother of…" she yelped, wiping bloody goo from her face. "What the hell was that?"

Dean sat up and immediately moved off the bed to join her, staring wide-eyed at the wailing infant.

"Dean, why is the baby black?" she asked in a panicked voice. " _Why is the baby black?"_

Dean's phone rang. "I think I know," he muttered, pulling it out. "Just, ah, go wash your face. We got problems."

Eli went into the tiny, grimy bathroom and ran the water, splashing some of it on her face. The gunk was in her eyebrows and hair, thick like snot with a bloody tint, dripping from her chin onto her shirt.

"Gross," she muttered, wetting an old towel and using it to strip the goo from her hair. She rinsed it and began to rub her shirt. "This'll never come out."

Banging could be heard from outside the bathroom; then, the unmistakable sounds of a fight. Eli hesitated, pressing her ear to the door. She didn't know what to do. Sure, she could fight—in a tournament, where there was padding and rules and regulations. She'd punched someone, broken boards with her hands, kicked and knocked down and been knocked down, but never for real. Not like this, where lives were at stake. Where butting in might be more of a hindrance than a help.

She thought of the other her, the parallel-universe her, with her powers and no fear, who apparently kicked ass all the time, and felt a desperate sense of longing. Who was she when compared to _that_?

Her hand was inches from the doorknob when she heard the shot. She cringed instinctively, then steeled herself and flung open the door.

Sam was standing over the body of a dead policeman, while Dean cradled the baby. "Good, you're here," Sam said without looking up. "Grab your shit. We gotta go."

* * *

Eli felt a stab of unease deep in her gut as the car drove through the wired gates of the complex. She peered out the window, at the scruffy men with guns loitering around the building, at the heavily padlocked iron door and the mystical symbols etched in the walls. A community of hunters.

She was _so_ out of her depth.

Everyone stared at her curiously as she filed into the bare room behind Dean and Sam. Dean was still cradling the baby, glaring distrustfully at everyone who so much as glanced in his direction. Sam's face was blank. Eli was trying very hard not to fidget, and was suddenly glad that her hair was pulled into a simple ponytail and nothing sillier. Shapeshifter goo was still stuck to her t-shirt.

"Well, what do we have here?" Samuel asked, his genial tone not entirely masking the steel underneath it. "You boys brought a friend?"

To her surprise, Sam reached out and clasped her shoulder, pulling her closer to his body. "This is Eli," he said flatly, as if daring anyone to say anything about her presence. "She's traveling with us."

"You brought an outsider here?" Christian said in a disbelieving tone. He was sitting sprawled in a chair, cleaning his gun with thoughtless ease. "She even a hunter?"

"Just leave her alone," Sam snapped. "She's with us. That's all you need to know." Christian scoffed. Sam's eyes went cold. "You got a problem with that?"

"Well, actually," Christian started, putting the gun on the table and beginning to rise. Samuel stopped him by raising a hand.

"Easy," he said, as if talking to a dog. He turned to Sam. "It's okay, Sam. You trust her, we trust you. She can stay long as she wants."

"Thank you," Sam said, releasing Eli's shoulder.

Samuel shifted his attention to the infant in Dean's arms. "Let me see the little guy," he said, holding his arms out.

Dean cradled Bobby-John closer to his chest. "That's okay, I got it."

Samuel smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "What do you think I'm gonna do?"

Dean stared him down. "You really don't want to know the answer to that."

Someone tapped Eli on the arm. She turned; it was the woman, with the black hair and smirking mouth and dark, haunted eyes. "Here," she said, motioning for Eli to follow her as the men bickered. She picked up a rifle and tossed it to her. "Make yourself useful. You can clean a gun, right?"

Eli sighed; _this_ was something she could do. Expertly she dismantled it, placing the parts on the table and reaching for a rag. The woman shot her a small, incredulous smile.

"Not bad…for a civvie."

"My dad was a Marine," she said, inspecting each piece almost reverently. "I've been shooting since I could walk. You keep your weapons in decent condition."

"They keep us alive." The woman held out her hand, ghostly white in the half-light. "I'm Gwen."

"Eli," she said, wiping her hand on her jeans and shaking Gwen's. "Nice to meet you."

Gwen squeezed her fingers just a little too tightly. Eli squeezed harder. Gwen smirked. "That remains to be seen."

A commotion drew their attention; Gwen dropped her hand and Eli felt the circulation flow back into her fingertips.

Samuel was handing the baby over to Christian. "Congratulations," he said, smiling. "It's a boy."

Eli felt her jaw drop as Christian cradled the infant to his chest. "The things I do for this family," he said, shaking his head. She glanced at Dean, whose expression mimicked hers, mouth open, but with a lot more anger on his face.

"You're kidding, right?" he said, his hackles rising.

"Go to hell, Dean," Christian murmured, not even looking at him.

"You have no business raising anything," Dean snapped.

"Why, Dean?" Sam asked, a little too smoothly, like he was a psychologist and Dean was on his couch. "Because he's a hunter?"

Eli resisted the urge to mutter: _No, because he's a dick_. As if he could read her thoughts, Sam's eyes slid over to her, and his mouth quirked upward.

Outside, the dogs began to howl. Samuel immediately sprang into action, snatching the baby from Christian's arm and shouting orders.

"Check the back door," he said to Gwen, and she nodded, her pale face even more ashen than before. He handed Bobby-John to Sam. "Downstairs, panic room," he said hurriedly. "You'll be safe there." Eli moved to join them and he held up his hand. "Your friend stays here. Apparently she's good with a gun, and we need all the help we can get."

"I can…" Dean started, surging forward, but Sam stopped him, one hand on his shoulder like a vice.

"Dean, we can't argue now. We're the last line of defense. Eli is probably safer up here anyway, with more people around and more guns. If that monster gets to us, it's gonna pissed and even more dangerous."

"Enough talk!" Samuel barked. "You gotta go, now!"

Eli caught Dean's eyes; they were large and fearful ( _scared for me?_ she wondered) but she swallowed hard and nodded, and he spun on his heel and disappeared from the room.

"Here," Christian said, tossing her a gun. She caught it, feeling the familiar weight in her hands. "It's a trank, so you've only got three shots. Don't fuck it up."

"We're tranking it?" she asked.

"Don't ask questions," Gwen snapped, hefting her own rifle. "It's coming."

* * *

Down in the panic room, Dean was pacing, jiggling the crying infant in his arms. Sam was very calm, looking upward with calculating eyes. From above came the sharp _rat tat tat_ of gunfire, the sound of shouts, booted feet, something heavy falling on the floor.

"That doesn't sound good," Dean muttered. Sam looked at him.

"Dean," he said sharply, and Dean felt something crawl across his back, like a shiver, cold and out-of-place. "Look, man, this is bad. Real bad. And…if we get out of this…"

"What do you mean, of course we'll get out of this," Dean said, trying to sound lighthearted despite the fear that was curling heavy in his stomach. He wondered how Eli was doing. The girl was annoying as hell, but he'd feel bad if she just up and _died_ on them. Plus, then he'd have Cas to answer to, for letting his charge die, and he did _not_ want to have that conversation. Somehow he doubted a _my bad_ would be enough of an explanation for the angel.

Sam shot him a patronizing glare. " _Dean_." The gunfire resumed above them, crackling and staccato. "If we get out of this, I want you to do something for me."

Once upon a time, Dean would have said _anything_. Now he pursed his lips and cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah? What's that?"

"Accept the sigil." Sam's voice was flat and brooked no argument. The sounds of battle suddenly ceased above them. "Will you do that for me, Dean? It's important."

"You're asking me this _now?_ " Dean asked incredulously. Sam shrugged.

"We could die in five minutes. Seems the only time left to ask. Do this for me, Dean, okay? It'll all make sense when you do." Dean was silent. "I just came back from the dead, man," Sam cajoled. "And we're in mortal danger. You really gonna deny me _now_?"

Dean hesitated, then nodded. "Fine, whatever. We get out of this alive, Cas can carve me up all he wants. You happy?"

Sam didn't respond.

* * *

"You have something of ours."

The thing that looked like Samuel was very calm, almost peaceful. He stared down the hunters with a smile curling his lips. "I know he's here," he continued, walking toward them on steady feet. "I can feel him." He sucked in a deep breath, as if smelling the air, then suddenly turned to look directly at Eli, a smug, secretive look. "Well, well. I can also feel…"

A gunshot rang out. A dart lodged in his back, then another, and another. He turned, like he barely felt the blast, to glare at Gwen. She backed up, frantically holding up her gun as he approached, until Mark appeared and slammed a silver knife into his heart.

It did nothing but piss him off. The shapeshifter reached out a hand, and with utter, brutal finality, broke Mark's neck.

"No!" Gwen screamed, rushing him. The shifter grabbed her neck and squeezed, choking the life out of her. The rest of them raised their rifles; Eli fired off her tranquilizer darts in quick succession, lodging them into his chest. When he still didn't let go of Gwen, whose eyes were rolling back in her head, Eli did a very stupid thing.

She didn't even think; like an instinctual motion she dropped her gun and lunged at him, slamming the heel of her hand into his elbow with a force that would have shattered a normal man's bone. He dropped Gwen and she staggered away, gasping and sputtering for breath, but even with the darts lodged deep in his skin he didn't fall. Instead he shifted his attention to Eli, grabbing her head in a vice-like grip.

"I know what you are," he hissed as shots rang out around him.

Then he snapped her neck.

* * *

Dean and Sam emerged from the panic room, battered and bruised. Sam immediately went to Samuel and began speaking to him in a low voice. Dean rubbed his sore neck, looking around.

"Where's Eli?" he croaked, his throat still aching from the shifter's attack. Gwen looked at him with sympathetic eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said, jerking her head to the corner. Dean followed her gaze to see an old sheet covering four body-shaped lumps.

"Oh no," Dean breathed, rushing over. Sam stopped his conversation and watched curiously as Dean threw the sheet off of the smaller figure, revealing a very cold, very dead Eli. "Oh, fuck."

"Dean, it's okay," Sam said. Dean glared up at him.

"In what universe is this _okay_?" he snapped. "And why are you not more upset? You're the one who _remembers_ her."

"Look, Dean, we don't have the time to be upset right now," Sam said sharply. "We have a ton of problems to deal with. Can you just…" He hesitated, looking uncomfortable. "Can you just take her out to the car? You can put her in the backseat."

"What?" Dean asked incredulously. Sam gave him a long, hard stare.

"Like, right now, Dean," he said, as if trying to convey something without words. "Please."

"Girl's not going anywhere," Samuel said, giving him a strange look. "We need to stay together and talk about what just happened."

"Yeah, what was that thing?" Dean asked.

"We think it may have been an Alpha," Samuel said. Dean's eyebrows shot up.

"An Alpha? Like…"

"Like all monsters come from somewhere," Samuel said. Sam shifted impatiently, his eyes flickering to the dead bodies in the corner as if waiting for something to happen.

"Dean, I really think you should take her body out to the car," he said again. Dean glared at him.

"You think carting the dead body outside is more important than learning about the fucking first shapeshifter? What is with you, Sam?"

"Nothing, it's just…" he started, only to be interrupted by a low moan. "Oh fuck," he muttered in a quiet voice. "Too late."

Dean turned slowly. He stared for a moment, then reached instinctively for his gun. Sam stopped him, a hand on his arm.

"Dean, wait, it's okay…it's really her."

Eli was sitting up, rubbing her neck and wincing. "Oh, God," she moaned, oblivious to the fact that everyone was staring blankly at her. "What the hell just happened?"

The room was silent. Finally Samuel clapped Sam on the shoulder, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

"Seems your little friend's more interesting than I thought."

* * *

It was difficult for Eli to walk, so Sam carried her outside, cradling her smaller body protectively as the Campbells stared with flat, icy eyes. She was coughing weakly, her neck a mess of blue and black bruises, her head spinning. Her bones felt out of place, disjointed, cracked. Everything was a blur.

What had happened? Dimly she heard the brothers talking about the baby, about the Alpha, but her ears were ringing.

"Was that the plan?" Dean was asking, his voice reaching her like she was underwater. "To use the baby as bait?"

"Of course not," Sam said, opening the back door and bending to place her inside the car. "I just thought Samuel's was the safest place."

He moved to step away and Eli caught his hand. "What happened to me?" she asked in a hoarse voice. "Sam, what happened to me? Did I….was I dead? Did I just die?"

"I'd like to know that, too," Dean piped in. Sam gently pried his hand away.

"We'll talk," he promised. "But right now we gotta get out of here. They're understandably freaked after seeing you come back from a broken neck, and I don't want them changing their minds and deciding to examine you." He closed the door and slid into the driver's seat, Dean next to him.

"My neck was broken?" she asked in a small voice. Sam looked at her in the rearview mirror as they pulled out.

"Didn't Cas tell you?" he asked. "Eli, you can't die."

* * *

"No I didn't catch it!" Samuel snapped into the phone, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his face with his hand. "It killed three of my people. I shot it full of elephant tranquilizer and it chuckled!" He hesitated, lowering his voice. "To be honest, I'm not sure I want to find it." Around him, the room was dark and silent, eerily so, the voice buzzing in his ear like flies. He felt old, and exhausted, and half-dead, which he guessed was an improvement over all-dead, at least. "But yeah, we will find a way to catch it. Yeah sure, I'll bring it right to you, _gift wrapped_." The voice spoke again, and Samuel clenched his hand around the phone until his knuckles were white. "What about her? No, I don't know what she is. All I know is that I saw her neck snap right in front of my eyes, then ten minutes later she was sitting up like nothing happened. Shifter seemed to have an idea, though. Sam too. Boy's not telling us something." He listened for a moment. "I can't make a move until we know more. Sam's protective of her. But we'll figure out what she is. You have my word."

The other end clicked, and Samuel was left holding a dead line.

 


	5. The Third Man, The One Girl

Biblical plagues.

Just when Eli thought her life couldn't get any weirder.

She was still reeling over the fact that she had apparently died and come back to life. That was a clause that Castiel had _not_ explained to her. What did that mean? She didn't even know who she was anymore. She didn't even know _what_ she was anymore.

Sam wasn't much help; if anything, he was more cryptic than Cas. Not to mention the fact that she had to listen to his loud, obnoxious hooker sex through the thin walls that separated their rooms. Apparently he was "a fucking god," based on the number of times she screamed it. Just how much was he _paying_ her?

For all of his ranting, Eli was happy that Dean was coming back. He felt real to her, like there was a heart buried under his gruff exterior. Like if he could stop hating on her for five minutes they could be friends. Not like Sam with his blank smiles and eerie, flat eyes.

She wondered where Castiel was. Even though they had only spoken for a few hours, she missed him, with a strange, deep-bone ache. It made her think of when Dean had said that they 'bumped uglies in a parallel universe.' Was that true, or was that just Dean being snarky? She thought of his brilliant blue eyes and soft lips and flushed.

So when Dean mentioned calling Castiel to help with the case, she didn't know what to think. She wanted to see him, of course, but he…unnerved her. She didn't know what she was to him, she didn't know what he expected of her. Just that he was serious and intense and stared a little too long, but she liked it, somehow.

God, she was so confused.

Eli realized belatedly that both brothers were staring at her, perched cross-legged on the far bed, her hair still damp from the shower. "What?"

"Well, if someone's gonna call Cas, don't you think it should be you?" Dean asked, sitting on the other bed and resting his elbows on his knees, a beer in hand. "I mean, you were the last person to see him. He went through the trouble of getting you here, seems he'd answer your prayer."

This made Eli deeply uncomfortable. She didn't like the implication that he wouldn't come down when Sam was pulled out of _hell_ after sacrificing himself for humanity, but that he would come down for her. Even if it was true, she didn't want to be the one to prove it.

"Ah, why don't you try first?" she asked. Dean stared blankly at her. " _Please_ ," she added.

"Doesn't matter who does it," Sam said in a clearly resentful voice. "He's not gonna come and that's it."

"Well, I'll try," Dean said, shooting his brother a perky grin. "That's me, the optimist." He closed his eyes, shifting his shoulders and clearing his throat. "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray to Castiel to… get his feathery ass down here."

"You're an idiot," Sam interjected. Eli covered her mouth to keep from giggling.

"Stay positive," Dean reprimanded, shooting Eli a half-amused look. He closed his eyes again. "C'mon Cas," he said in a slightly louder voice. "Don't be a dick. We've got ourselves a plague-like situation down here…and your, ah, girlfriend too, if that'll, you know, sweeten the pot. Do you…do you copy?"

The room was silent.

Sam was entirely too smug. "Like I said," he said, swiveling his chair around to face them. "Son of a bitch doesn't answer…"

There was the faintest sound of wings rustling, and he was there. Dean and Eli stared. Sam cut off his sentence abruptly.

"He's right behind me, isn't he?"

Eli couldn't help but stare. This was the man—the angel—that started it all. That pulled her from her old life and told her she had a destiny and threw her into this insanity with these two very strange, very broken men and a world full of monsters. It was only the second time she had seen him but it was like something wanted to jump out of her chest at the sight of his calm gaze fixed on hers, like she _knew_ him, knew him better than she knew herself, knew him from a world that had never existed. A world that only he and Sam remembered.

She hoped, in a dim, quiet part of her mind, that Dean had been telling the truth when he offhandedly (and insultingly) mentioned their relationship. She wanted to believe that she was here because he cared about her, that she was not just another piece on some strange cosmic chessboard. Plus she had been having dreams, about his sweet warm mouth on hers, that low gravel voice husky in her ear.

"Hello," he said in that voice, and she shivered.

Sam just stared at him blankly. "Hello?" he snapped, then dropped his voice and mimicked the angel. " _Hello._ Hello?"

Castiel looked rather adorably beleaguered. "Uh…that is still the term?"

"I spent all that time trying to get through to you. Dean calls once and now it's _hello_?"

Castiel sighed. Eli wondered if the others even noticed how exhausted he looked. "Yes," he admitted, walking forward. His eyes met Eli's again. "Hello, Elijah," he murmured, standing in front of her and brushing her shoulder with his fingers. "I am glad to see that you are…well."

"Damn lucky, you mean," Dean scoffed. "In case you haven't heard her neck was broken."

"I did hear," Castiel said in a low, pained voice. "That was…unfortunate."

"Unfortunate?" Dean asked, incredulous.

"So you don't wing down here when Eli _dies_ , but you'll come for Dean?" Sam asked. "What, you like him best or something?"

Castiel turned to Sam, his fingers leaving her shoulder. "I knew, as you did, that Elijah could not be killed by merely snapping her neck. I wanted to give her time to acclimate to being with the two of you before I interfered again. And… Dean and I do share a profound bond." He glanced at Dean and shrugged. "I wasn't going to mention it."

Dean's jaw dropped. Eli snorted. Sam's face just went very red.

But Castiel wasn't there for Dean, or for Eli for that matter. He was there because of the mini-plagues. He was there because of the Staff of Moses.

"It's been chaos up there since the war ended," he said, turning his back on them and toying idly with the glass jar of locusts. "In that confusion a number of powerful weapons were stolen."

"Wait," Dean said, holding up a hand. "You…you're saying your nukes are loose?"

Castiel sighed. "I'm afraid so. To make matters worse, I…don't remember any of the events of the past year. My memories are from a different history. That has made the task of organizing Heaven much more difficult. I have had to…improvise. It has not gone well."

There was a brief pause. Dean's eyes flickered over to Eli; she stared straight ahead, feeling guilt and worry wind in her gut. This was her fault, she knew that. How had she gone in a few days from a graduate student to screwing up the very fabric of reality itself?

"You've stumbled upon one of the weapons," Castiel continued, turning back to them. "We must find it." He hesitated, then lifted his chin resolutely. "I need your help."

Sam smirked and rolled his eyes. "That's rich," he scoffed.

Castiel glared at him and tossed the jar of locusts so that Sam had to catch it with both hands. "Sam, Dean," he snapped, looking angrier than Eli had seen him. "My 'people skills' are 'rusty.'" He used his fingers to make quotation marks, his teeth bared. "My 'reality,' which I was very happy in, was blown to pieces mere weeks ago. Since then I have had to adjust to a new, and far worse, world than I left behind. I have spent that time as a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, tackling the problem of fixing _Heaven_ by myself in a reality where I am essentially an interloper. So _forgive me_ if I did not come at your beck and call, but believe me, you do not want that weapon down here. That much I know. Help me find it. Or more people will die."

Dean and Sam finally agreed, pulling up the files on the dead police officers and the kid they framed. Without another word Castiel transported them to the father's house.

He forgot something.

Eli sighed, staring at the empty room. "Aw, _man_."

* * *

Only about five minutes passed before Eli heard Castiel's gruff voice say "Portability" out of nowhere and suddenly the three men were in the room again.

"Cas, you realized that you just kidnapped a kid," Dean pointed out as the angel dumped an unconscious child on the bed. Dean's gaze fell on Eli. "Holy shit, were you…where were you?"

"Here," she said shortly. "Who's the kid?"

"Sold his soul for the staff of Moses," Dean said shortly, then raised his eyebrows and turned to Castiel. "Cas, you left your girlfriend behind. You must be more stressed than we know."

"Far more," Castiel said shortly. "Elijah has no memory of what she was, no hunting ability. She would not have been useful." He looked at her, his brow deeply creased. "I'm sorry, but it's the truth."

"Yeah, speaking of which…." Sam said, and gave Dean a meaningful look. Dean groaned.

"All right, all right, a promise is a promise." He stripped off his black t-shirt. "Let's get this over with. You're lucky I'm in a charitable mood."

"What…what are you doing?" Castiel asked, his eyes going wide.

Sam pulled Ruby's Knife out of his belt and flipped it, holding the handle out to the angel. "Dean's gonna accept the sigil," he said. "Right now."

"You are?" Castiel asked, taking the Knife from Sam's grasp. There was relief in his tone. "What changed your mind?"

"Let's just say I was roped into it," Dean said blandly. "You sure this isn't gonna fuck with me too much?"

Castiel shook his head slowly. "It will merely allow you to remember your previous life, a bit at a time. Like remembering a dream."

"So I'm not gonna be smacked in the face with memories," Dean clarified.

"It will be gradual," Castiel promised. "And you will be thankful that you did it."

Dean sighed, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably, and turned around. "Fine. Damn. All right. Do it." His eyes caught Eli's. She was watching silently, her face a little pale, her hair still damp around her head, chewing on her thumbnail with shaky hands. "You better be worth it," Dean said in a low voice.

"Be still," Castiel commanded.

Sam watched him place the knife-point on Dean's back and carve the symbols. He watched with narrowed, scrutinizing eyes, memorizing the shape and patterns. When Castiel dropped the Knife to the floor and murmured throaty, staccato Enochian syllables over the bloody mess, Sam listened intently, and his sharp mind remembered them.

Light flared and then faded. Castiel stepped away, looking drained. "It's done," he said.

Dean winced, reaching one arm back to prod at the wound; whatever Castiel had done had caused it to scab over with remarkable speed, leaving just tender thin lines, a mark that would never come off. "Great," Dean muttered, picking up his shirt and pulling it back over his head. "More body art. Swell."

"Do you feel any different?" Sam asked. Dean hesitated, then shrugged.

"I don't know, I…" He doubled over in pain, something sharp digging its way into his brain. "Aw, _shit!_ "

_**Bobby's yard. Loading a truck. Her arms around his body, the smell of her leather jacket. A sense of warmth and peace. Family.**_  
" _ **Love you, Dean. Even with your loud music and your pervy ways and the creepily erotic interest you show in your car. I love you. And…that's all I came to say."**_

"Dean!"

Dimly he was aware that he had fallen to his knees and that Sam was crouched by him, holding his shoulders and keeping him upright.

"I'm fine," Dean grunted, pushing his brother away and staggering to his feet. "Who knew that memories of love and joy could _hurt_ so fucking much?"

"It will get easier," Castiel said shortly. "With time."

"You mean I'm gonna have to go through that every time I remember something?" Dean asked. Castiel nodded. "How long is this gonna go on?"

"It's three years' worth of memories for you," Castiel said in an even voice. "It will take some time."

" _How much?_ "

"Enough."

"Well you're no help," Dean grumbled, still holding his head. "Damn. It's like someone ice-picked my skull."

"You'll live," Sam said flatly, then turned to Eli. "Your turn."

She looked like a deer in headlights. "Uh… what? No! I didn't agree to anything!"

"Eli," Sam started, sounding supremely impatient. He walked toward her; she got off the bed and backed up, hands held out as if to physically ward him off.

"Remember that time I said I was scared shitless of losing myself?" she asked breathily. "That still holds, okay?"

"Stop being selfish," Sam snapped, advancing.

She dropped to a crouch, hands in front of her face, like a cornered animal. "Look at Dean! He doesn't have _half_ of what I have to remember and he dropped to the floor! Who knows what it will be like for me, who knows what it will _do_ to me! I'm _terrified,_ Sam. I'm not ready. I'm sorry if that's selfish but _I'm not ready!_ "

"We need you!" Sam said, his voice rising. "Don't you see the destruction going on around you? I mean, look at you! You're _worthless_. Cas even left you behind, and he's the one who wanted you here in the first place! We need the old Eli back. _Now_."

A hand clapped down on Sam's shoulder like a vice and lifted him off the ground. "You would be wise," Castiel growled, squeezing until Sam was sure his bone would break, "to never insult or threaten her again. I will not be responsible for my actions if you do so."

"Cas," she murmured. His eyes met hers, dark and pained, and he dropped Sam, letting the taller man stumble away with a curse.

"Eli has the right to decide her own course of action," he said evenly, glaring at the two brothers as if daring someone to contradict him. "She will decide when she is ready. Now, Dean, I'm glad you've accepted the sigil, but we've wasted enough time as it is. We have to find out who holds this boy's soul. Immediately."

"Great," Dean said, still wincing and holding his head. "How exactly do we do that?"

"When a claim is laid on a living soul it leaves a mark," Castiel said. He seemed to stop for the briefest of moments, like his tongue couldn't form the words, and his eyes flickered to Eli before resolutely shifting back to the brothers. "A…a brand."

"Like a…" Sam started, then he stopped as well, a strange look of understanding dawning on his face, and he too glanced at Eli, like remembering something once forgotten. "Oh, okay. Uh, go on."

"I can read the mark," Castiel continued, "and find the name of the angel that bought the soul."

Eli watched Sam and Dean share a split-second glance. "How?" Dean asked.

Castiel sighed, looking down at the unconscious boy. "Painfully, for him. The reading will be excruciating."

Eli sat up straighter, a sick feeling winding in her gut. Dean held up his hands. "Woah woah woah, hold on," he said, clearly outraged. "It's a kid, Cas, a kid. Sam?"

He turned as if expecting support from his younger brother, but Sam just narrowed his eyes in that creepily interested way of his and asked: "Any permanent damage?"

" _What?"_ Dean spluttered.

"Physically, minimal," Castiel said, unbuttoning the cuffs of his white shirt and rolling it up.

"Oh well then, by all means, stick your arm right in there," Dean said sarcastically.

Castiel was clearly beginning to lose patience. "Dean, if I get the name, I can work a ritual to track the angel down," he said, speaking slowly and clearly as if trying to explain quantum mechanics to an idiot.

"And I'm all for that!" Dean said insistently. "But come on, there's got to be another way."

" _There is no other way_ ," Castiel said in a voice that attempted to be even.

"You're gonna torture a kid!" Dean yelled. "I thought you were supposed to be this other Castiel, more human, new and improved! Well, I tell you what, you don't seem more human to me now." He swung on Eli, who had stayed tellingly silent throughout the whole exchange. "Say something!" he urged. "Maybe you can talk him out of this insanity."

Eli shook her head a little, her face telling him her answer even before she spoke. "Dean…" she started slowly, and he groaned.

"Oh God, not you too. What, is this _be a heartless asshole_ day?"

"He's right, Dean," she said. "This is about more than one kid. People's lives are in danger, and even more than that, their souls. Plus, if he sold his soul for the staff, that means that he was the one who killed those men. No matter his age, or his reasons, that makes him a killer—someone who coldly and methodically planned the deaths of three men. He's not an innocent. He forfeited those rights."

"He's a _child_ ," Dean insisted.

"He's a murderer," she countered. "And it's not like he's gonna die. I mean, Sam told me about your demon-killing Knife. How many times have you used that and killed an innocent host?" Dean blanched, but she plowed on. "This has to be done, and you know it."

"Yeah, but…" Dean floundered, searching for words. "But it's like he doesn't even _care._ Like none of you do. I thought…I thought things were gonna be _different_ from here on out. New Cas, new memories, you…" He trailed off.

"I am different, Dean," Castiel insisted in a quiet voice. "More different than you can imagine. But I am fighting a losing battle, and I…I can't care. I don't have the luxury."

That was the final word. Dean's shoulders slumped, almost imperceptibly, but it was enough. Castiel turned his back on them and slowly began to push at the boy's stomach. At first his fingers merely pressed against soft skin, but then a white light began to shine and they disappeared, deeper and deeper, until his whole forearm had vanished. The boy screamed, pathetic wails, and his eyes rolled back in his head; Dean jerked forward as if to intervene but Sam held him back. Eli just sat, her hands over her mouth, feeling sick and useless and horrified.

Then it was over. Castiel removed his hand with a grim look on his face.

"He'll rest now," he said shortly, rolling his sleeve back down.

"Did you get a name?" Sam asked eagerly, completely unaffected by what he had just witnessed. "What is it?"

"I was told that he died in the war," Castiel murmured to himself. "He was alive in the world that I am from, but here…"

"He was a friend, or something?" Sam asked impatiently. Castiel nodded, his eyes still far away.

"A good friend."

"Yeah well, your friend is now moonlighting as crossroads demon," Dean huffed, crossing his arms. He was anxious in a way that thinly disguised true panic; Eli, even with her dim knowledge of the supernatural, understood it immediately. An angel, one of the most powerful beings in existence, faking his death, going rogue, collecting souls…for what purpose? The possibilities were chilling.

Castiel seemed oblivious to the tension in the room; still fully withdrawn into himself, he pondered aloud. "Balthazar, I wonder…"

Sam butted in, trying to shake Castiel from his stupor. "So we can find him now, right?"

"Balthazar," said a new, smug voice. All heads jerked up; a strange man was in the room, in a pristine dark suit, a short silver blade in his hand. Something about his aura rang familiar to Eli, like she could feel his power in her bones, and a small voice in her head said _Angel._ "Thanks Castiel," the angel sneered, holding up his blade. "We'll make good use of the name."

He attacked. Eli stifled a scream as she watched Castiel bring up his own blade to deflect the intruder, sparks flying where the two metals clashed. They moved faster than humanly possible, blocking and parrying, a strange mixture of sword fighting and martial arts. Dean and Sam backed away as they relentlessly tore through anything in their path, turning over chairs and destroying desks. In one heart-stopping moment, the interloper paused with his blade a hair's-breadth from Castiel's throat to hiss: "By the way, Raphael says hello."

Castiel flung him away, and their swords went spinning to the floor. Eli made some involuntary movement, and the strange angel's eyes fell on her for the first time. He pushed past Castiel, approaching her on feet too swift to be seen, and leaned down. "Well, what are you?" he asked, eyes half-closed as he breathed in deeply, like he could _smell_ what she was. "Something Heaven-bound? But what…"

Castiel grabbed him by the back of the neck and bodily flung him away from her. They grappled, the power in the room mounting as each fought not to escape their vessel in the fight. Castiel pushed, a seemingly deliberate motion, and both stumbled and went crashing through the twelfth story window to the street below.

Moments later Castiel appeared back in the room, unharmed, and proceeded as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

"He's gone," he said in his gravel voice, moving quickly to the cupboard and pulling out items with single-minded intensity.

"Cas, who was that guy?" Sam asked.

"A soldier of Raphael," Castiel said in a distracted voice, still rummaging in the cupboards. "He must have followed me when I answered your call."

"Raphael," Sam said flatly. "The Archangel. I'm sorry, what's going on here?"

"I can explain later," Castiel snapped, moving to push past him. "Right now we have to…"

"No, not later, now," Dean said, putting a hand on the angel's shoulder as if that could physically stop him from leaving. "Stop. Too many angels, Cas, I don't know who's on first, what's on second…"

Eli got the reference. Castiel didn't. "What is second?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

"Don't start that," Dean said, exasperated.

Castiel relented, stepping back. "It is simple. Raphael and his followers, they want him to rule Heaven. I, and many others, the last thing we want is to let him take over. It would be catastrophic."

"You're talking…civil war," Sam said in a stunned voice. Castiel nodded.

"Technically, yes." He dropped his gaze to the floor, his shoulders momentarily slumping. "Even in this world, it is the same, always the same." He pulled himself back up with obvious effort and pushed past the Winchesters, walking to the foot of the bed that Eli was sitting on and pulling up a leather bag. "Which is why we have to find Balthazar and his weapons before Raphael does. Whoever has the weapons wins the war." He paused, fingers tightening around the soft handle. "And now he will know of Eli. It doesn't matter if they haven't figured it out yet; with time they will, and once they do they will search for some way to use her, if not for her power then as leverage against me. This cannot happen."

"And what happens if Raphael wins?" Dean asked as Castiel pulled items from the bag, his long fingers white against the warm leather. "What does he want?"

"What he and others like him have always wanted," Castiel said, pulling out a flask of holy water. "To end the story the way it was written."

"You mean the apocalypse. The one that we derailed?" Dean's voice was incredulous.

"Yes. That one. Raphael wants to put it back on the rails." Castiel sighed, pausing for a moment, hands still buried in the bag. "It is never ending; there will always be angels who want the apocalypse. In my timeline it was Remiel and Sariel, and we only escaped that catastrophe by changing history. I thought, misguidedly, that with them gone it would be calm. But now Raphael has stepped forward and it's war all over again."

"But why?" Dean asked, but his question fell on deaf ears as Castiel pondered the now-empty bag.

"I need myrrh," he murmured. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Myrrh?"

The angel was gone.

Eli stared at the place where he disappeared, and then at the table where he now stood, drawing lines on the wood with what looked like chalk. She massaged her temples, feeling a headache coming on. This was all moving so _fast,_ she didn't even have time to get a word in. It was like she wasn't even there, just a part of the upholstery.

' _Why did I come here?' s_ he thought wildly, and for the first time, a real and terrifying certainty knotted in her stomach.

If she ever wanted to fit in to this world, she was going to have to accept the sigil, and risk losing herself. The only question was, was it worth it?

"Why does Raphael want to bring back all this crap?" Dean asked hotly. Castiel finished his chalk symbols and placed a silver bowl at the center of the circle.

"He's a traditionalist."

"Why didn't you tell us this?"

Castiel stopped suddenly, like a string that had been plucked. He took his hands away from the bowl and glanced at Eli, his brow knotted, blue eyes heavy and sad. "I was ashamed," he admitted. "I am still new to this timeline and it has been…overwhelming, to attempt to complete the work that the Other Castiel started. I wanted to believe that I could do it alone. And by the time I realized the extent of Raphael's insurrection, that it was the same war I had faced in my own timeline just with different players, I found myself…floundering." He sighed. "I expected more from my brothers. I'm sorry."

His words were directed at the Winchesters, but at the last moment his eyes slid over to Eli, who had finally stood from the bed and was hovering near them, trying to decipher the writing on the table. She met his gaze, her eyes dark with understanding and a strange kind of fatalism, as if she had made a choice. Then the moment broke and Castiel snagged Dean's hand before anyone realized what he was doing, holding it over the bowl, a silver knife poised above his palm. "Now I need your blood."

"Woah woah hey!" Dean yelped in high-pitched voice as the knife slid across his skin, bringing up a deep well of red. "Why don't you use your own?"

"Wouldn't work, I'm not human," Castiel said, a strange reminder for Eli. She watched him squeeze Dean's blood into the bowl and drop in what looked like several uneven grey stones. As Dean cradled his cut hand Castiel poured holy water into the bowl and chanted in staccato Enochian.

When he was finished there was silence for a long moment. Castiel's eyes were half-closed, as if listening to music no one else could hear.

"Uh, Cas? How long does this spell take?" Sam finally asked. Castiel ignored him, head titled, eyes narrowed. Then he straightened and shook out his trench coat like nothing had happened.

"Got him. Let's go."

"Wait, what about him?" Dean said, gesturing to the still-unconscious boy on the bed.

Castiel merely pulled Dean's wounded hand into his own and healed it with a touch. "Don't you think the police will take him home?" he said distractedly. Dean merely stared at him. Castiel looked up, confused. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just…" Dean shrugged. "Everything that's going on, I didn't expect you to think to heal me."

Castiel hesitated for a moment. "You were in pain," he said slowly. "Would I have ignored that?"

Dean shrugged awkwardly. The silence stretched on, uncomfortable and heavy. Then Castiel jerked his shoulders and they disappeared.

* * *

This time he took Eli with them. Dean seemed just as shocked as she was.

"I thought you said the other angels shouldn't get their hands on her," he hissed in the darkness. Castiel continued to peer at the looming, ostentatious yellow house, searching for danger.

"They know where we were, they can follow me. I could not leave her alone."

Eli shoved her hands in her pockets and hunched her shoulders, trying to become smaller. She felt like a burden.

Dean finally looked up at the house everyone was staring at and quirked an eyebrow. "Huh. I was expecting more Doctor No, less Liberatchi."

Castiel was already gone.

* * *

Castiel walked cautiously through the echoing, empty hallways. The house appeared deserted, but he knew better; he could sense his brother, the usually comforting aura of him turned something dark and suspicious, another snake in the grass. Castiel let out an almost imperceptible sigh. He was tired of this timeline. He missed his own, frantically and fiercely.

He hated to admit it, but he missed _his_ Eli. His partner. His equal. He felt desperately alone, and doubting if he should have even dragged the poor, innocent girl outside into this whole mess to try and recreate something that was gone.

The hallway ended in a grand lobby, the curling staircase topped by a fat toad that croaked at him. Castiel paused, tipping his head, before appearing next to the amphibian. Balthazar was close.

Disco lights and strange music heralded his entrance as Castiel cautiously stepped into another room, the door behind him slamming and bolting shut. A flash, and his brother was there, wearing the carefree visage of a British man, well-creased face still handsome, something forced about its relaxation.

"Cas. You're here," he said in a delighted voice. Castiel inclined his head.

"Balthazar."

"It's so good to see you," Balthazar continued warmly. "He told me you were …floating around."

"He?" Castiel asked cautiously. Balthazar darted his eyes to the other side of the room, a malicious smile quirking the corner of his mouth.

"I believe you two have flown together?"

The lights went up to reveal the angel that had attacked him, dead. Something was writhing in his throat, working its way up, and a moment later a fat toad pushed through his lips and hopped across the floor.

"You know the old frog in the throat," Balthazar said glibly. Castiel shook his head.

"Even I know that's a bad joke." He hesitated, eyeing his brother up and down. "I grieved your death."

And he had. In his timeline, Balthazar had been alive, faith renewed by the better world that Eli had created while in her true form. He had been one of Castiel's strongest supporters, gathering followers in Castiel's absence, forming an army. To see him fallen so far was heartbreaking, in a way that the other, more stoic Castiel could not have truly understood.

Balthazar was waving his hand as if trying to make the dirty truth disappear. "Yeah yeah, sorry about that. I wanted them to think, you know, so they wouldn't come looking for me."

"What is all this? What are you doing?" Castiel asked, stepping forward.

Balthazar shrugged. "Whatever I want! This morning I had a ménage…what's French for twelve?"

Castiel ignored the question, as it was impossible for an angel to not remember a simple word in a human language. He wondered where this new, strange humor had come from, this desperation to sound completely human, like he was trying to cast off any remaining angelic qualities.

"You stole the staff of Moses," Castiel said in a stern voice.

Balthazar bobbed his head agreeably. "Sure, sure. I stole a lot of things." He smiled again, that secretive, wicked smile that set Castiel's teeth on edge.

"You were a great and honorable soldier. We fought together," Castiel said, then pushed forward. "And I know for a fact that this is not the only road that you could have taken. I know that, had things gone differently, you would be standing by me right now, like a true friend." He took another step. "Why have you let yourself become swallowed by pain and desperation? Is it because our Father has still not returned? The apocalypse was averted; this beautiful world can continue to exist. And instead of protecting it you've become a common thief!"

That rant was _not_ something the old Castiel would have said. Balthazar apparently thought the same thing, tipping his head contemplatively at his brother until Castiel broke eye contact and looked stonily away.

"Common? No," Balthazar said, attempting to sound lighthearted but clearly unnerved by something in Castiel's manner. "Thief? Ehh…" He shrugged lazily.

Castiel took a deep breath. "I need your help."

"I know," Balthazar said, suddenly serious. "I've been hearing all about you and as far as I'm concerned, you and me, Cas, nothing's changed. Though…" He hesitated, walking right into Castiel's space and peering at him, a white-hot, too-intense gaze. "Though _you've_ changed. Never heard a speech like from the old Castiel. It's like there's something… _broken_ , inside of you? What is it?"

"Step away," Castiel growled, but it was too late. When Balthazar did step away, it was with a look of contemplation on his host's face.

"Could be the drugs talking but I swear that mangled thing inside of you is half a soul bond. Interesting. You know, I don't know of anything on Heaven or earth that can destroy a soul bond. Do you?"

"It is not of…"

"Ooo, this really is interesting, Cas," he said, grinning a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You were always such a good soldier, but now? All I get from you is emotion, pouring out of your soul. I take drugs in an attempt to experience that strength of human emotion. And half of a soul bond. My my, you are full of surprises today."

Castiel ignored him. "Will you help me?" he repeated. Balthazar sighed but took the cue and backed off, looking thoughtful.

"We're brothers. Of course I want to help you."

Castiel let out a long, low breath of relief. "Thank you." He looked his brother in the eye. "I need the weapons."

"Don't ask that!" Balthazar cried, immediately throwing up his hands and turning away.

"Why take them? Why run away?" Castiel pressed. "You didn't _do_ this in…" He stopped himself from revealing too much; luckily, Balthazar was too deeply wrapped up in his own rant that he didn't notice Castiel's slip.

"Because I could! What?" he sneered at the look on Castiel's face. "You're the one who made it possible. The footsteps I'm following, they're yours. What you _did_ , stopping the big plan, the prizefight, you did more than rebel. You tore up the whole script and burned the pages for all of us. It's a new era. No rules, no destiny, just utter and complete freedom."

"And this is what you do with it?" Castiel said coldly. "You abandon everything yet you are alone; you try to feel but you _can't_. What are you even rebelling for?"

"How many times do I have to say it?" Balthazar countered. "Not all of us rebel for goodness and honor or whatever the hell it was you rebelled for, brother."

"I rebelled for love!" Castiel near-yelled, fighting to restrain his emotions. "I gave up _everything_ , for love! I lost everything! And this is how my brothers repay my sacrifice?"

Balthazar blinked, nonplussed. "Love, eh? Of the non-familial kind? Well well. To each his own. Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist, Cas. I'm happy with my coke and _ménage a twelves,_ thank you very much." He rolled his shoulders, attempting to seem calm but clearly disconcerted by Castiel's outbursts. "I'd say, more than the other way 'round, _you_ should join _me._ I mean, where has this love gotten you? All alone, yelling at me, all while being chased by Raphael. Dad isn't coming back. Not good. So you might as well blow coke, and jump on the bed."

"No one is happy without love," Castiel insisted quietly. "And I love you, my brother. If we can beat Raphael we can end this, and be happy. Just give me the weapons."

"Happy?" Balthazar asked in an amused tone. "Do you know what's funny about you? You actually believe that you can stop the fighting. You actually think it's possible for us to all get along, to _be happy._ Happiness is a lie, brother, just like love. The fighting will never stop. My advice: grab something valuable and fake your own death. If you've got someone you love, then by all means, bring her – him? – along too. Just run, and don't stop until you reach Barcelona. The planet," he added, almost as an afterthought. "Not the city. They've got dogs with no noses."

Castiel stared at him, feeling a deep chill run through his body. "You've gone insane," he murmured. Balthazar didn't protest it, merely poured himself a drink and waited for Castiel's next words. "Your little holiday is over. Raphael knows you're alive by now."

Balthazar smirked, looking entirely too smug. "Oh, Raphael can try me anytime. I'm armed. I'm sorry, Cas, all else aside, I'm really, really happy to see you. Even with your secrets and that stick up your ass."

Thunder rolled through the room; Castiel could feel it shaking deep in his bones, vibrating up through his skull. "Was that you?" Balthazar asked. Castiel shook his head warily. "Oh, that's my cue then. Good luck with your whole _love_ thing. Oh, and tell Raphael to bite me."

He snapped his fingers. Lightning flashed, and he was gone.

* * *

Downstairs, the two hunters and the civilian were setting up traps. Eli manned the banishing sigil; Dean had explained (with the slightly shell-shocked look on his face of someone recovering long-lost memories) that if anyone but her used it her soul would be banished as well, which didn't sound pretty.

It seemed instinctive, somehow, slamming her palm into the circle and feeling the rush as it flared with light and blew Raphael's minion away. Like it was something she had done many times before, like sensations from the other timeline were seeping into her even without the sigil.

A harsh thumping snapped her attention back to the present. Eli turned to see Castiel tumbling down the stairs, body contorted in a way that would have surely killed a human. She rushed forward instinctively, but Sam's arm snaked around her shoulders and pulled her back against his chest, hand over her mouth, keeping them in the shadows.

She could only watch as a tall, thin black man in a suit, who could only be Raphael, lifted a sword above Castiel's head. "Somehow I don't think God will be bringing you back this time," he sneered. Tears were pouring sloppy and wet onto Sam's hand as she struggled to get out of his grip. _Fight!_ She wanted to scream. _Don't just kneel there and look dazed. Fight!_ Why wasn't he fighting? Why did he look resigned and sad? Did he even _want_ to live?

"Hey!" snapped a second, unfamiliar voice. Eli's eyes widened at the appearance of another man, this one tall with faded blonde hair and a British accent. Raphael turned to him with murder in his eyes, but the new man ( _Balthazar?_ she wondered) merely winked and held up a shining white stone. "Look at my junk."

"No!" Raphael yelled, surging forward, but it was too late. The stone flared with light and in an instant Raphael had turned to salt, white pieces crumbling to the ground in a messy heap.

Balthazar smirked. "Same thing happened to Lot's wife. Iodize the poor sucker, and your kitchen is stocked for life!" He beamed at Castiel, as if expecting a pat on the back.

Castiel stared at him, something like awe etched on his face. "You came back."

Balthazar shrugged as if to say _no big deal_ and tucked the stone back into his pocket. "Now Raphael will have to go shopping for a new vessel. Should give me a nice long head start on him." He tipped an imaginary hat. "'Till next time."

Castiel continued to stare, blood still dripping down his cheek like red paint. "Next time?"

Balthazar wrinkled his nose, curious. Dean's voice sounded from behind him, husky and smug.

"No time like the present."

Balthazar turned just in time to see the lighter drop to the floor and ignite the circle. "Holy fire," he snarled, his face suddenly twisted into something ugly. "You hairless ape. Release me!"

"First you're taking your marker off of Aaron Birch's soul," Dean said in a flat voice, as if dealing with an enraged, trapped angel was a common occurrence. For him, Eli thought, still safely out of sight though out of Sam's iron grip, it probably was.

Sam stepped forward, almost gleefully, when Balthazar resisted. "Unless you like your wings extra crispy, I'd think about it," he said, waving the jar of holy oil. Balthazar glowered.

"Castiel. I stood for you in Heaven. Are you going to let these…"

"I believe," Castiel said, cutting him off. "The hairless ape has the floor."

Reluctantly, Balthazar released the soul. Dean stared hard at him, not quite believing that he wasn't lying. "Why are you buying up human souls anyway?" he asked gruffly.

"In this economy?" Balthazar laughed, but there was no humor in it. "It's probably the only thing worth buying! Do you have any idea what souls are worth? What power they hold? Now, you have what you wanted: the boy's soul is free and clear. I think it's time that I get an answer of my own, don't you think?"

"What do you want to know?" Castiel rasped, and Eli sucked in a breath as Balthazar turned at looked directly at the place where she was hiding.

"Who is your friend? The one lurking in the shadows, the one who smells so deliciously like restrained power. Seems strange, to bring someone like that here and not let them fight. Come out, now, don't be shy," he said, beckoning her. "I know you're there. With power like that, I'm surprised the entire _state_ doesn't know you're there."

Eli edged into the light, her shoulders knotted and tense. Balthazar surveyed her almost lazily. "Oh, _hello_ ," he said, in a voice that would have been suave if it didn't sound so dangerous. "I know what you are. Looked for you, I did." Castiel gave a jolt and Balthazar turned to him, nodding. "Oh yes. I stole a lot of things from Heaven, Cas, one of them a certain…ah, shall we call it _confirmation_ that Michael did indeed father a whelp. I looked—she would have been an excellent addition to my stockpile – but I never found. Guess those perfect hiding spells broke when she met up with you, eh?" He smirked, despite the fact that the holy fire still burned around him. "Has _she_ been the change in you? I do have to say, bravo. The loyalty of a Nephlim….powerful thing, my brother."

"You will not touch her," Castiel warned, and Balthazar threw back his head and laughed.

" _Me?_ Touch what is yours? Come come, now, Castiel, have _some_ faith in me. We are brothers, after all. I know we don't share. Besides—" He gave Castiel a sideways look—"Rumor has it that the Celestial Fires have stopped burning and that all known collars have mysteriously vanished. So she wouldn't be much use to me anyway, now would she?"

"You did your research," Castiel said.

"Eh. You have to know your investments." His tone turned cold. "I'm bored now. Release me."

Dean's voice was a low growl. "Suck it assclown, no one said anything…" He stopped in his tracks as Castiel lifted a hand and doused the flames. "Cas, what the hell?"

Castiel ignored him, looking straight at Balthazar. "My debt to you is cleared."

Balthazar nodded. "Very well." He winked at Eli. "I'm sure we'll see each other again, _cherie_." Then he was gone.

"Cas are you out of your mind?" Dean hollered, throwing up his hands. "Cas?" He turned in a full circle, but Castiel had vanished. "Fuckin' angels, come on!"

"Dean," Sam said sharply.

Dean stared at him blankly. "What?"

"Look around you. It's not just Cas." Dean cast his gaze around the empty room as Sam said: "Eli's gone too."

* * *

It wasn't the usual teleportation.

The few times that Eli had flown, it had been a brief chill of wind and whirling light, like being flung through cold skies wrapped in warm feathers. This time it was like squeezing through the atoms of the universe, like a hole had opened in the very fabric of time and space and sucked her in. Her whole body felt like it was clamped in a vice, squeezing; she couldn't breathe, or scream, as she was pulled tight through a vacuum and deposited roughly on the other side.

"I am sorry," a familiar voice said when she could hear again. "I should have warned you that it would be…uncomfortable."

Eli squinted. She was lying down; the sun was shining hot and bright in her eyes, blinding her. She blinked woozily, and the hazy outline appeared, of an angular face and messy dark hair leaning over her.

"Cas?" she murmured, sitting up. They were on a sloping hill overlooking a small city nestled at the foot of a mountain. The air was warm and sweet, and smelled like grass and smoke from cooking fires. "Wha…where are we?"

He settled down next to her, cross-legged, hands folded neatly over his black pants. "It's not so much _where_ ," he rasped, squinting down at the city with a pensive look on his face. "As _when._ "

"When?" she asked, surprised. "You mean we're…" She paused to survey the moving figures below them, so small as to be ant-like, the buildings mud-brick and stone and tile, small clouds of dirt from many moving feet rising up in the streets. "Are we back in time?"

"Quite far back," he said, turning his attention to her, his blue eyes piercing. "I had to make sure that we weren't followed, or detected. Welcome to Pompeii."


	6. Jump the Shark

 

 

Eli's eyes went immediately to the mountain, green and sleeping. "Pompeii?" she asked, her voice squeaking.

"Don't worry. Vesuvius will not erupt for almost another hundred years." She turned to stare, open-mouthed at him. "The year is what you would call 10 BC; in the Roman Empire it is known as _Year of the Consulship of Maximus and Antonius_ , or _year 744_ _Ab urbe condita._ " He hesitated. "I am sorry for not asking your permission before I…"

He was cut off by Eli flinging herself into his arms, a move that would have bowled over a human but instead just left him slightly stunned and marveling at the familiar weight wrapped around his body. "Thank you!" she cried into his shoulder. After a moment she pulled back, her eyes shining. "This is amazing! I'm back in time! It's _10 BC._ And I didn't even need a TARDIS!"

"I…" he started, wrinkling his brow. "I do not understand that reference, but I am glad that your reaction is a positive one." He wrapped his arms around her, briefly, an impromptu hug, tucking her head under his chin, and then the moment passed and he let her go.

Eli sat up, crossing her legs and facing him. "Why are we here?" she asked eagerly. "Why the past? Do you have a mission?"

He shook his head. "I merely needed time." She stared at him, confused, so he elaborated. "In the present, the war is constant. It is all-consuming. I cannot afford to step away from it for even one day. But you and I…we needed time. I dragged you into this world, into immeasurable danger, and simply left you there. If for only a few days, I wanted to be able to talk with you. Explain things: this battle, who you are, what it all means. You deserve that."

"Hence, 10 BC," she said with a small smile. He nodded.

"Now, there is no war. We can rest, and when we are finished I can return to the exact moment that we left, to continue the fight." He paused, lost in his own thoughts. "I…I believe that I needed this. I am more human than the other me was; despite my power I am prone to mental exhaustion, depression, loneliness. I needed a respite, if I am to keep on fighting."

"But why now? Why Pompeii?"

"This place…" he murmured, resting his chin on his clasped hands and staring pensively at the city below. "At this time, it is overlooked by Heaven. It has not the historical ramifications of Rome, nor the theological impact of Israel and Jerusalem. We will find no angels here to question our presence."

"Thank you," she said softly, touching the sleeve of his trench coat. He turned to look at her with those unfathomable blue eyes. "Thank you, for everything."

"For destroying your life?" he asked cynically. "For ripping you from everyone you've ever loved and putting you in danger? For asking of you that which should never be asked, to remember another life, become someone that you are not?"

"For believing in me," she said, and he started, surprised. "For giving me a purpose." She turned away from him, tucking one loose strand of yellow hair behind her ear, her voice so soft it was almost unheard. "You saved my life."

_That_ was something that Eli would say. Castiel felt love and pride well in his chest, the first hope that the decisions he made had not been the wrong ones. She was, underneath it all, still Eli. Untrained, innocent, naïve, and in over her head, but still Eli.

"Come," he said, standing and offering her his hand. "Let us go into the city."

She went with him, as she always did.

* * *

Pompeii was lovelier than Eli could have imagined. They entered through a towering arch, and were immediately ensconced in a rush of humanity: carts and animals; women with aquiline noses and shining dark hair wearing flowing dresses ranging from a mud-earth color to rich reds and blues; men in tunics and short hair, clean shaven, with lean, muscular bodies; children darting underfoot; stands with fresh fruits and vegetables hawking their goods. Graffiti lined the walls in a language that Eli couldn't read, sometimes accompanied by stick figures and vulgar drawings. The streets were paved, straight and even, and raised slightly so that rain and mud flowed through the gutters instead of over the population's heels. They moved through the crowds, catching glimpses of swimming pools, amphitheaters, even wide stretches of walled-off grass where lithe young men were tossing balls and exercising.

"This city is very modern for its time," Castiel said into Eli's ear, his hand on the small of her back as he directed her through the streets. "There are many aqueducts, and some houses and inns even have running water, piped from underground. There are banks and theaters and law courts, and since this is a port city, trade and wares from all around the world."

"It's beautiful," she breathed, then glanced at Castiel with a look of consternation. "But aren't we standing out a little bit?" She gestured to their attire and her blonde hair.

"We will change as soon as we acquire lodgings," he promised her. "Do not worry. This may not be Rome, but it _is_ a port town. They are used to strangely dressed arrivals with odd-colored hair."

They arrived at a large square, a fountain burbling merrily in the middle, with stands winding snakelike throughout the whole thing. " _Macellum,_ the great market," Castiel murmured into her ear. He took her hand and led her into the mess; she had the impression of a jumble of items, carpets and paintings and tiles and furniture, cooking utensils, religious figurines (some of them distinctly phallic-shaped), spices, wine, meat, fish, vegetables, jewelry, and clothing.

This was where they stopped, Castiel stepping forward to converse in smooth, foreign syllables with the woman selling bolts of material and simple, ready-made tunics. She scrutinized Eli, her nose wrinkling at the sight of her unbound hair, jeans, and tattered sweatshirt, then turned back to Castiel and began what sounded like an argument. He raised his voice to match hers, going back and forth with her until both of their hands were waving and they were nearly yelling. Then quite abruptly she swooped down to get something from a lower shelf, wrapped it in paper and set it down on the counter. He picked it up, laid three coins (though Eli had no idea where he had acquired them) onto the table and the deal was done.

"What was that all about?" she breathed as they continued down the streets, the package tucked under his arm. Castiel glanced down at her.

"Bargaining. A typical custom in this area: arguing for the sake of lowering the accepted sales price."

"What language were you speaking?"

"A bastardized form of Latin."

"Do you speak every language?" she asked, curious.

He glanced down at her. "Of course."

On impulse she took his arm and leaned into it, letting him lead her once again through the cramped rows of stalls. They stopped several more times, each culminating in an argument and the deposit of goods on the wooden table. When they emerged, almost spat-out from the press of bodies and scent of herbs and meat, into the now-calm streets, Eli found herself laughing with breathless disbelief.

"Where to now?" she asked, arms piled with packages. He took some from her and balanced them precariously on one arm as the other tentatively looped through hers.

"There is a hotel, on the outskirts of the city," he said, his low voice calmer and more pleased than she had ever heard it. "Archeologists will one day call it _The Grand Hotel Murecine._ We will find lodgings there."

"I came here once, you know," she murmured, casting her eyes around. The sun was just starting to set, glazing the world in reds and oranges, light glancing off of the red tile roofs as street vendors packed up their stalls and families rushed home for dinner. "With my parents. I was only, oh, about twelve. We walked the ruins. There was a mosaic on the floor of a house, of a dog on a leash, and you could buy these little rip-off mosaics of it from cheap vendors outside of the city." She laughed a little, something dazed in her tone. "And now I can meet the man who owns that house, maybe even see his dog. Walk the streets that will one day be buried under ash and dirt, killing…killing everyone."

"It has to be," Castiel reminded her gently. "What will happen cannot be changed."

"I know," she said, smiling bravely up at him. "And it won't happen for almost a century. I'm just saying, it's…oh, I don't know. Surreal. Really, really surreal."

They reached the edge of the city, passing through another towering arch as the sunset faded into pale blue twilight and the air started to smell more of night flowers than dust and body odor. Suddenly it was quiet, the only sound that of their footfalls, the only light the candles shining from the large, graceful building Eli assumed to be the hotel, about half a mile away.

"Why did you bring me here, Cas?" she asked quietly. The cobblestone street had turned to an unpaved path, her sneakers raising little clouds of earth as she walked. "Really. Why this, why Pompeii, now, and not some backwater town in some unimpressive time, if you just wanted to rest and talk. Was it to impress me? Seduce me? Push me closer to saying _yes_ to your sigil?"

Castiel almost jerked his arm away, but she held onto it, signifying that her questions held no malice. "No," he said vehemently, then paused, thinking. "I just wanted you to be happy."

"Oh," she said, at a loss for words. The minutes ticked by. "Well, now I feel like shit."

"For what?" he asked, tipping his head at her in the fading light, his eyes dimmed to near-black.

"For doubting you."

"Don't. It was smart." A beat. "We are here."

"Oh," Eli said again, but this time it was awestruck.

They were standing in front of a huge complex, stone buildings smoothly rounded, candles shining from every window and clustered around tables where small groups of people sat in the hot summer night, the ground thick with climbing flowers and shrubs. Around them danced fireflies, flickering through the air like incandescent stars.

"We're married," Castiel said suddenly, and she looked at him in surprise. "At least, that's what our story is. So that we can rent a room together without any…talk."

"Of course," she said, blushing. "Lead the way."

The room was simple, with a large bed of stacked rushes lined with goose down, a small armoire, and a bowl for washing. The bathroom was outside but attached to the building, just a seat and an urn for collecting waste. Eli inspected it thoughtfully, wrinkling her nose, and returned to the room to find Castiel opening the packages and laying them on the bed.

"There are clothes and basic necessities for now," he said softly, as if someone in the room was sleeping. "But more are being made and will be delivered here by tomorrow evening."

"You're handling yourself pretty well in this time period," Eli commented, jumping on the bed and surveying him with thoughtful eyes. "Better than in our own, I'd say."

"I was on earth more frequently in this time," he said, sitting delicately next to her. "We all were. We are ten years from a very important time in theological history."

"Hm," she said. "So is there another you on earth now?"

He shook his head. "I won't come down for another forty-three years."

"Who is here?" she asked, yawning.

"Just the Watchers. They will not bother us." He touched her shoulder. "Sleep. It has been a trying day."

"Stay with me?" she asked, stretching out on the bed in her jeans, too tired to even slip her sneakers off.

The room went dark as he blew out the candle. "Always."

* * *

Being back in time was more awkward than Eli had imagined it to be. She didn't speak the language or know the cultural norms, bathing was done in communal bath houses, and urine was apparently collected to help make dye.

She struggled with the dress Castiel had purchased; it was all folds and ties, apparently simple but she could barely figure out where the arm-holes were. She finally emerged from behind a scrim, reasonably secure in the fact that the material would not fall off at any moment.

Castiel tilted his head. He was in a long belted tunic and sandals, and looked surprisingly comfortable in the clothing. "I believe that your head is where your arm should be."

"Oh, blow me," she snapped, but struggled into it the correct way, letting him help her. Her head and arms finally in the proper place, she felt him straighten the folds with careful hands, and a shiver ran through her whole body.

"Are you cold?" he asked, worried. She shook her head, stepping away and fiddling with her slim belt.

"No. Hey, wasn't there a knife in one of those packages?" He found it for her and she eyed it carefully; it was small and easy to hide. "Actually," she said pensively. "Before we go out, I have an idea."

* * *

Castiel had asked, rather solicitously, if she wanted to see the city, but Eli just wanted to talk to him. "That's the reason we're here, right?" she asked as they walked the dirt path out of the hotel in the hot sunlight. "So that we could talk, not so that this could turn into an episode of Doctor Who."

The late morning found them sitting on the same hillside that Eli had woken up on, staring down at the city, Vesuvius letting out small, lazy tendrils of smoke into the air.

"Tell me about the past," she asked, fingers idly playing with a four leaf clover.

"The city was founded…"

"No, no," Eli said, laughing. She crossed her legs and stared at him earnestly, knees nearly touching his. "I mean your past. Tell me about it."

He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Why?"

"Because I want to know more about you," she said simply. "Didn't I want to before?"

"Of course," he said automatically. "But we were always running and…it is rare, in this timeline, for anyone to ask me…anything. Nonexistent."

"So talk," she said, nudging him with her knee.

He was silent for a long time, squinting into the wind. When he finally spoke it was with a softer rasp, almost a whisper. "We aren't born. We weren't, and then we were. We were told that before us there had been only God, and that it was a lonely universe, and he wanted children. Something of his own.

"Michael was the first of us. God spoke a word, and he was. God spoke all of our names, carefully, one at a time. He made each of us in joy and love."

Castiel threaded his fingers through the grass, the sun beating down on his pale face. "The earth was beautiful and empty. We were happy, but it was a static happiness, without change. We were, in essence, warriors without a war, soldiers without orders. So we bickered. Even before humans, we fought.

"There was only us. Our names were all we had to distinguish us, names and rank. We were a collective, each touching the other. We existed with and in each other. I'm sorry, but it's hard to explain. It was beautiful."

"Go on," she murmured when he fell silent.

"With humans came our own individuality; I think, on some level, we modeled ourselves after them. We were defined by them: those that hated them, and those that loved them. Those who worshiped them as our Father did, and those that saw them as animals and slaves. We looked into them, and saw a reflection of ourselves. It only grew worse when we started to take vessels, confined in separate forms for the first time ever.

"Some went mad. Some could only exist as a collective. Some fell. Many followed Lucifer, blindly, because it seemed that without even trying the human race was destroying the angels merely by existing.

"The truth is, the wars didn't end with Lucifer. We fought his followers for centuries. Angels continued to fall, or lose faith." He hesitated, as if revisiting some dark memory. "Angelic war isn't like human war. There is no rest, or sleep. The only way we can kill each other is when we are in a vessel, so Heaven is like a…like the inside of a computer, constantly running up information, darting through time and space, trying to overtake your enemy. It's a game of wits: You know that you must get your enemy into a vessel to defeat him, but to defeat him you must also be in a vessel, leaving you vulnerable. Without a strong central command, everything fell to chaos. Especially after Father left, we followed his generals, because in the tangled snarl of information that is our version of war, we could not exist without orders. Like pawns on a chessboard, we let someone else set us up, because from our vantage point we could never see the whole game."

He stopped again, dropping his head. Impulsively, Eli took his hand, wrapping her fingers around his. "So what happened then?"

Castiel looked up; there was something like relief shadowed in his blue eyes. He began to talk, hesitantly at first, then stronger as time went on. He talked, and talked, and talked, for the first time in what felt like forever, and it was as if something heavy rose from his shoulders and vanished into the hot summer sky.

* * *

Days passed, and there was barely a quiet space between them. After a while Eli started to fear her voice going hoarse, and even Castiel's already husky voice was showing strain.

"When I was a kid my dad used to take me to the outdoor shooting range every Saturday morning," she said while choosing a bright cluster of grapes from a stand. "We didn't have outdoor equipment so he stuffed tissues in my ears."

"That doesn't seem very safe."

"It was fine," she said dismissively. "He was always very careful with me. I used to shoot tin cans off of a fence and he acted like it was the best thing in the world. I think that's why I'm so okay with all the shooting that seems to be going on with the Winchesters. Guns remind me of … home."

"Certainly not an average childhood," he said, smiling slightly. She beamed.

"No, but it was mine."

Another conversation, three hours later.

"Apparently my parents were really religious before I was born, but when I was growing up the only time I'd ever go to church was Christmas Eve mass with my mom. I thought it was so beautiful; we'd hold candles and sing, and the whole place would smell of incense and wax."

"Did you believe?"

"I did when I was a kid. There was some unspoken tension in my house when it came to God… guess it makes sense now." She sighed, running her fingers along the edge of a fountain, feeling its spray touch her face. "I always believed in that sort of indefinable _something,_ not a person but a presence beyond comprehension."

"That is true," he said, brushing a leaf from her hair. She unconsciously leaned into him.

"Not it's not. He is definable… He's your _Dad._ "

"It doesn't mean what you believed is not true."

Another conversation, the next morning during a breakfast of crusty bread and porridge.

"My Father didn't intend for a religion to be built around Him. He wanted faith, not dogma."

"People are desperate to believe. They cling to rules because it makes them feel safe," Eli said, spooning porridge into her mouth. He rumpled his eyebrows.

"Why?"

"Because they're afraid." He stared at her, so she clarified. "Of death. Everyone's afraid, Cas. Religion makes them feel better."

"That's not its purpose."

"I know. But that's the way it is."

That afternoon, by the amphitheater.

"I've always thought string theory proves the existence of God more than negates it."

"It does."

An hour later, walking across cobblestoned streets searching for the house with the dog mosaic in the entranceway. "I do watch television," he was protesting. "I have seen that _Doctor Sexy_ program that Dean so enjoys."

" _Doctor Sexy_? Oh man, Cas, we have got to get you hooked on some better shows."

"It is rather compelling."

Seventy-two minutes after that, sitting in the amphitheater and watching the young men throw javelins.

"So what's the endgame?" Eli asked, feeling the sun warm her face, bringing out her freckles until they flared orange across her nose.

"What do you mean?" Castiel asked. He was watching her with that tipped-head, contemplative look she liked so much.

"Well, if I remember. Will we just…keep fighting the forces of darkness?"

He hesitated. "Before…you were an angel."

"An _angel_?" she asked, eyes widening. "What…how?"

"You have a grace, one that exists independently from your body, one that you have to accept. If you become an angel again, you can go to Heaven. Fight in the battle. And no one will ever be able to control you by any means."

"Oh," Eli said, fiddling awkwardly with the edge of her tunic. She felt a little sick.

"Though I do not know how to acquire such a grace," he continued obliviously, squinting into the distance, the wind ruffling his dark hair. "I don't know where to start."

Eli propped her chin in her hands and watched the lithe young men jog around the track, feeling inexplicably relieved.

Four hours later, watching the sun set from a small restaurant.

"If I wanted to leave, could I?" Eli asked, sipping surprisingly cold water from a mug. "Go back to regular life."

Castiel folded his hands under the table, his eyebrows rising in surprise. "Of course. Do you want to?"

"No!" she exclaimed, then broke into a grin. "I just wanted to make sure I could."

That evening, before bed.

"You are not beholden to this, Eli," he said seriously as she washed her face in the basin. "No one is forcing you to stay."

"I just…" She sighed and patted her face with a cloth before sitting on the bed. "I just want to make sure that you want me here for me, not for _her_. Are you desperate to have her back?"

He sat down on the bed next to her. "I miss her," he admitted. "She was very strong, and stood by me when no one else would. But you must stop thinking of her as a different person. She is you, whether you accept the sigil or not. You merely have some different memories."

"But…"

"Remembering won't change you. It couldn't. If you forgot a year of your life, do you think it would drastically change who you are?"

"It's more than one year, Cas."

"It's just time," he said evenly. "Just experiences. Your heart is the same."

She took a deep breath like she wanted to say something else, then abandoned it and stood to blow out the candle. "'Night, Cas."

"Goodnight, Eli," he said, and stayed until she was asleep.

* * *

It happened the next day. They were walking down a side street when Castiel suddenly stopped and narrowed his eyes, looking sharply to the right.

"What is it?" Eli asked, backpedaling. He let out a low breath.

"Demons. A nest of them. Powerful, and not far from here." He hesitated. "I do not want to draw attention to myself, but…"

"You can't leave them," she said firmly. "Go."

"You…" he said, looking at her with worry and admiration. She shrugged.

"I'll meet you back at the hotel later." He opened his mouth and she held up a hand. "I promise I won't get into trouble. I'll just pop in somewhere and get a drink and go back to the hotel. Okay?"

"Yes," he said, gripping her hand momentarily. "Be safe."

"You…" she started, but he was gone. "…too."

Eli snooped around in the markets for a while, but found the lack of communication draining. Finally she found herself at a small, nondescript bar, dim and cool even in the middle of the day, and went in. There were only two other patrons, hunched over a table in the corner, so she took a seat at the bar and resigned herself to making hand gestures at the relatively cute bartender.

He asked her something in rapid Latin, to which she shook her head.

"Sorry, I don't speak your language," she said plainly, and pointed to a bottle on the wall with the exaggerated movements she had learned meant _give me that_.

The bartender didn't move, merely scrutinized her with warm, laughing brown eyes. "Well," he said finally. "I guess I'll just have to speak your language then, won't I? What'll it be?"

Eli gaped at him. Not only was he speaking flawless English, he was also speaking modern, American English, exactly like she did. "How did you…" she started. "Who are you?"

"Just a bartender," he said breezily. "With a penchant for languages. Name's Gaius. Now, you just gonna stare at me all day or are you gonna drink, Blondie?"

 


	7. The Gospel According To Gaius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _ **AN:** If you have any confusion over this chapter I would advise re-reading the second half of chapter 14 of _As We Know It _, in which a certain angel talks about his vessel, past, and family._

 

 

 

Eli ended up drinking locally-made wine, which, for being so historically famous, was sickly sweet and tasted like syrup. She swallowed hard, trying to resist the urge to make a face. Gaius beamed at her.

"I know, tastes like rancid honey, and the lead in the cup will make you blind…eventually. Just don't tell anyone that, it's bad for business."

Eli coughed and set the cup down on the bar. "Thanks for the warning, but do you mind telling me just exactly who the hell you really are?"

"I told you," he said blithely. "I'm just a whiz at languages."

"Yeah, right. I happen to know that my version of slang isn't something you would normally hear."

"And where are _you_ from?" he asked interestedly. She shook her head.

"Someplace you've never heard of."

"Doubt that."

There was a pause where each just measured the other up. Eli took another drink of her sweet wine. "So what do you do, Gaius?" she asked finally. "Bartending seems a little low for someone with your…talents."

"Are you kidding me?" he asked, bouncing around. "It's perfect. I can talk to anyone, get all the gossip."

"Somehow I think there's more to the story than that."

He flopped down on a stool behind the bar and regarded her with keen eyes. "Yeah, you're right. Truth is, I'm kind of a big deal where I come from."

"Where's that?"

"Someplace you've never heard of."

Eli grinned. "Touché."

He grinned back. "Long story short, I usually work with my family, but we're, ah…having some issues. I'm just laying low for the moment. Got a message to deliver to a very special lady in a far-off city in, oh, about ten years. What I do with myself until then is my own business."

"Sounds like you're a messenger boy posing as a bartender," she said shrewdly. "Doesn't seem like much of a _big deal_ to me."

"Oh, it is," he said, suddenly solemn. "Real big. You might say…history-making big. But I've said too much already." He winked at her. "So what brings you here, mysterious one?"

"Kind of a….vacation," she said, sipping at her toxically sweet drink. "There's some…problems, where I'm from, so I'm getting away from it all for a couple weeks. Figuring things out."

"Hmm," he said, but didn't press her any further. "Why Pompeii?"

"Why not?" She lifted her cup in a mock toast. "Especially when you have such marvelous beverages."

"Hey, don't blame me, the locals like it."

"So how about you?" she asked as he broke out his own cup of some dark liquid and started lazily drinking. "Why Pompeii?"

"Family," he said simply, and she raised her eyebrows. "Oh, not the ones I want to get away from." He beamed, suddenly glowing with pride. "I have a daughter. Aeliana. She's about five. I still can't believe how beautiful she is."

Eli smiled too, but something in the back of her mind shivered with worry, and with pity. "You're married?"

"Oh no," he said, waving one hand. "No no no. The mom and I…don't really get along. Tries to slap me a lot. I don't even think she knows I'm here. Aeliana was sort of…an accident." He smiled again, a strangely tender look. "But a good accident. She's a very special girl. Takes after me."

"Well, here's to you," she said, and they toasted.

They talked for a long time, swapping stories and jokes and drinking progressively more, though Eli made sure to dump every other drink into a potted plant (he didn't seem to notice, but Eli had a sneaking suspicion that he noticed everything, and was silently laughing at her). Everything they said was vague half-truths, dancing around who they really were and where they really came from. Eli had a few ideas, but she couldn't exactly pin him down. She wanted to say pagan god, but the references he made made her think angel. And if her memory of her _Bible As Literature_ class was correct, perhaps a very special angel.

"So this guy," Gaius was saying, resting his face on his hand in the still mostly-empty bar. "Do you love him?"

"I…" she hesitated. "I don't know. I think the bigger question is, does he love me?"

"Why is that the bigger question?" he asked, refilling their cups.

Eli bit her lip. "Because if he does, everything would make a lot more sense."

"And the vagueness rises up again," he said, grinning. "Glad to see we haven't completely abandoned it."

"The thing is," she said, tracing patterns in the bar's dark wood, "that he's the one who brought me here. He got me involved in this…really big job, and I don't know why. I'm not qualified. I'm not who he thinks I am. So why? If he loves me, it would make a lot of sense as to why I'm here. It would make his motivations more…clear."

"Still vague, but I'll roll with it," he said genially. "So why don't you ask him?"

Eli looked at him, stretched out like a great cat behind the bar, eyes piercing and warm. "Come again?"

"Ask him," Gaius stressed. "You don't seem like a beat-around-the-bush kind of girl. So stop whining and just ask him."

"But if he doesn't…"

"If he doesn't I'll quit dispensing advice forever," he said, smirking. "He'd be an idiot not to see what a great catch you are."

She blushed a little, then glanced outside. "Oh, shit!" she yelped, jumping up. "It's dark. How long have we been talking?"

"Long enough. You want me to walk you back? Not like there's anyone in this place to miss me."

"No," Eli said, standing and throwing her thin shawl over her shoulders. She laid coins down on the table. "Thanks for the wine and conversation, Gaius."

"Any time, Eli," he said, scooping up the money. "Stay safe."

* * *

Castiel was already in the room when she arrived back at the hotel. He was pacing restlessly, hands clasped behind his back, feet laced in sandals, the tunic a poor substitute for his usual trench coat. When she knocked lightly on the open door his head shot up and his shoulders sagged with relief.

"Are you all right?" he asked, approaching her. "It's been hours."

Eli held her hands up to keep him at a distance. "I'm fine. Just… lost track of time. You're all right?"

Castiel studied her with curious eyes. "The nest is gone, though a few escaped. I will have to hunt them down."

She nodded, distracted. "Oh. Listen, I've been thinking…"

He watched her patiently. "Is something the matter?"

Eli took a deep breath, then squared her shoulders and met his eyes. "Cas…what exactly was our relationship? I mean, I could guess, but I want to know. Were we… I mean, do you…" She met his eyes. "What am I to you?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Why are you asking me this now?"

She shrugged, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. "I just wanted to … know."

Castiel was quiet for a moment, brow furrowed as if deep in thought, then moved behind her to close the door. He leaned against it, and Eli got the sudden impression that he was very sad, hardly able to form words.

"We were in love," he finally said, in a soft voice. "I should have told you sooner but I didn't want to burden you with the knowledge." He gave a pained glance. "I am sorry."

Eli touched his shoulder, bare for once, the skin hot under her fingertips. "There's more to it than that, isn't there?" she asked.

A syllable of protest escaped his lips, then he stopped himself and merely nodded. "We were bonded. A brand on the soul. You know it as soul mates."

Eli's throat was so dry she could hardly swallow. "And now?"

"It's like I've lost a limb," he admitted, not looking at her. "It's bloody and raw. But the worst is when I manage to forget for a moment, and it feels like it's still there."

"Cas," she murmured, and moved her hand from his shoulder to brush the edge of his jaw with her thumb. He closed his eyes, leaning into it, and without thinking Eli cupped the back of his neck with her other hand, turned his head, and kissed him.

He kissed her back gently, then extricated himself from her arms, his hands on her shoulders. "I can't…if you're not…are you?" he asked, stumbling over his words, his eyes as blue as the ocean at twilight. Eli felt her heart jump in her throat.

"I am."

He responded by crushing his lips to hers, taking her breath away. In an instant they had switched positions, her back against the door, his arm twined around her waist, the other hand buried in her hair. He tasted like heat and fire, and smelled like the sharp tang of ozone. He kissed her like he needed her, like a drowning man needs air, his mouth insistent on hers, begging her to open. Eli felt like she was completely wrapped up in him, like unseen wings were pulled tight around her shaking form, sending small sparks across her skin. It was the most safe and protected and _wanted_ she had ever felt.

They stayed like that for a long time, tasting each other, until Eli ran her hands down his chest, across the rough material of his tunic and down to the rope belt that cinched around his waist.

Castiel pulled away from the kiss, his hands grasping hers. "No," he said, his voice husky and thick, his eyes bright with restrained passion. "Not now. Not yet."

"Why?" she asked cynically, her gaze fierce. "Because I'm not _her_?"

"Because we just met," he said, running his thumb along her bottom lip. "Because you don't love me yet."

"You picked a hell of a time to be holy, angel," she said, trying very hard not to pout, and Castiel's mouth quirked upward.

"I am sadly aware." He leaned in and brushed his lips with hers, a sweet, chaste kiss. "We will make this work," he promised, pressing his forehead to hers. "Somehow."

"Okay," she whispered, twining her fingers in his as the candles flickered and guttered in the warm night. "Okay."

* * *

Castiel left the next morning to hunt down the remaining demons. Eli washed herself with the basin of cold water (public baths still creeped her out), and laced up her sandals with a modicum of success. She tucked a knife into her belt and made her way down the dirt path, until it turned into a stone street and passed through the archway into the city. Her mind was filled with everything that had happened the day before, and she was determined to get answers from a certain smug bartender who spoke fluent English.

They were on her before she could process what was happening. One minute she was walking down the street, the sky dim with rain-clouds and rich with the sounds of the city waking up, the next she was in an alleyway, her shoulder slamming into the cobblestones. Something cracked, and pain lanced through her collarbone and chest, knees skinned and bloody.

Eli scrambled to her feet as three men surrounded her, their eyes black as pitch. One said something to her in guttural Latin, and she shook her head, unable to comprehend.

The demon reached for her, his fist rising, but she was already whipping her small knife out of her knotted belt. Eli gripped it like her dad had taught her, blade down and facing out, and sliced diagonally up across his chest before bringing her fist down to jam it in the side of his throat. The demon screamed as she wrenched it out, his flesh sizzling, and he backed away with one hand covering his wounds.

"Yeah, that's a blade blessed by an angel of God, you motherfuckers," she snarled, crouching as they circled her warily. "Come at me!"

One came at her from the side and she swung her left elbow back into his nose, then brought her right hand up and jammed the blade in his eye. The demon screamed and stumbled away as the other two grabbed her from behind. She fought valiantly, slicing and kicking and struggling as much as she could, but they got her down and began to kick. A foot landed on her chest, her stomach, on the side of her face, until Eli felt her nose break and her mouth fill up with blood.

There was a flash of blinding light. Just before Eli passed out, she saw the demons fall, their eyes burned out of their skulls.

* * *

When she came to, Eli was in a small, well-furnished room, propped up on a stone floor with her back against the wall. There was no pain, and a tentative prod to her face revealed no injuries.

"It's kind of a raw deal you have," said a familiar voice, and her head jerked up to see Gaius sitting in a chair across from her, sharp brown eyes watching her intently. "If you die, your power kicks in and heals you right up. If you're just wounded, well, you're fucked. Good thing I was here to save your ass and patch you up." He leaned forward, suddenly menacing. "But what I really want to know is: why is an unregistered Nephlim that no one has ever heard of running around Pompeii with one of my brothers?"

"How did you…" she started, but he cut her off.

"I'm father to one of you adorable little half-breeds; I know a Nephlim when I see one. Seeing you with Castiel was a surprise, but you two made it so easy to follow you that even _demons_ could do it. Seems they weren't happy with my bro wiping out that nest of theirs yesterday." He raised an eyebrow. "Nice thinking, having him bless the knife in advance. Smart."

"So you decided to watch for a while before stepping in?" she asked harshly. He shrugged.

"What can I say, I'm a voyeur. And it was _such_ a good show."

Eli glared at him. Gaius stared back flatly until her shoulders sagged.

"We're from the future," she admitted.

"Ooohhh," he said, tapping his chin and nodding. "I should have guessed. I thought I felt a little fold in the fabric of space-time last week. It all makes sense now." He shot her a look. "So who's your Daddy?"

"What did you mean by _unregistered_?" she asked, blatantly ignoring his question. He let it pass.

"All Nephlim are listed in Heaven's books. To keep tabs on them. It's hard work, keeping all those barriers in place."

"How many of them are there?" she asked, feeling sick. He frowned at her.

"Over a hundred. Why?"

She shook her head. "Spoilers." Gaius merely stared at her, so she elaborated. "I can't tell you too much about the future. It'll screw up the timey-wimey ball."

"The _what_?"

"You'll get it in about 2,000 years," she said, resting her head against the wall.

"Well you're no fun." He pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. "So I guess you're not gonna tell me why you decided to travel all the back here for your little vacation?"

She shook her head. "Sorry."

He sighed. "I know; it's not allowed. And even _I_ don't fuck around with the time-space continuum."

"How do you even know words like that?" she asked interestedly.

Gaius flashed her a smile that was mostly teeth. "Snagged it from your brain. How else do you think angels can speak every language? Lots of interesting stuff in there, by the way. You're _naughty_."

"Oh, bite me," she shot back without thinking. He wiggled his eyebrows.

"With pleasure."

Something Castiel had said stirred in her mind, and she sat up suddenly. "Tell me," Eli said. "How does a Nephlim get a grace? I know it's possible, but…how?"

"Looking to become an angel?" Gaius asked. She blushed, feeling strangely despondent.

"I might have to."

He sucked on his teeth, thinking, messy brown hair flopping into his eyes. Eli was struck suddenly by how out-of-place he looked in his tunic, like he should be wearing jeans and a band t-shirt. "Well, every Nephlim has a grace to begin with," he started, and she looked at him in surprise. "Oh yes, they all have graces. But they're born of mortals, in a mortal body, so the grace isn't inside of them at birth. It's brought into being at the same time, but in Heaven, like two halves of a whole waiting to be reunited."

"And where is it kept?" she asked.

"In Heaven's armory, with the weapons. Most protected place there is."

Eli's stomach dropped. With the weapons. And the weapons were gone. That meant that...

"What if someone had your grace?" she asked slowly. "Say, an angel. Hypothetically."

"That's a weird hypothetical question," he said, raising an eyebrow. "But, well, you'd have to get it back from them. A grace outside of a body can be kept by the one who finds it. Kept, but not used, or destroyed. You'd have to seek out this angel and get it back. Hypothetically."

When she didn't say anything he pressed on. "I know I shouldn't be asking this, but…do we know each other? In the future?"

Eli blinked at him. "No," she said slowly. "Yes. Once, maybe, but not now. Soon, I think."

He grinned at her. "I like you."

She sat there, legs sticking out, sandals unlaced and dirty, and feeling a little like she was going to be sick and a little like her life was some crazy story a child was dreaming and a little like if she just held her breath and kept going that the momentum would keep everything from crashing down on her head. "I like you too."

* * *

She found Castiel lingering in the garden outside of the hotel. The afternoon light filtered through the thick leaves and threw shifting halos around his head, and he looked, with the toga and the eyes lit blue from the inside, like an angel.

"I think it's time for us to go home," she said simply. He nodded.

She didn't tell him about the demons, or Gauis, or what she learned. She felt that it would be important, someday, and that she should keep it close to her chest. She didn't know why she felt that way. It was like the other her was perched on her shoulder, whispering almost-unheard words: _This might save your life._

She didn't know if she should trust that voice, but for the moment she did.

They changed into their pants and shirts and shoes, and then Castiel wrapped them up in his wings and the world went dark again.

 


	8. The Consequence Of Madness

 

 

They separated in the dark as Castiel said they would. He was reappearing the moment that they left, but he sent her further in the future so that they wouldn't arrive together and arouse suspicion; she knew that he would do this. But it was still a shock when the void spat her out onto the dirty floor of a dark old house and her first sight was Dean shaking with blood on his face.

"What the holy fuck?" said Samuel as she landed with a thump on the floor, throwing up little clouds of dust.

"Eli?" came Sam's voice, huge hands gripping her forearms and lifting her up. "Where the hell have you been?"

Dean was now writhing on the floor in convulsions, hands covering his face. He was screaming. Eli shrank back but Sam kept his iron grip on her.

"What's happening?" she asked wildly.

Samuel eyed her with suspicion. "That's what I'd like to know."

"Just…get out ," Sam said shortly, steering her into another room. "We have to take care of my brother." He sat her down on an old musty couch. "Stay here," he ordered, hands palm-out like she was a dog. "And don't you dare disappear again."

Then he turned on his heel and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Eli sat in the room for over half an hour. After a few minutes the screaming faded, and the sounds of heavy boots hitting the floor sounded. There were low words, and water running, and then Sam opened the door and motioned her inside.

"Dean's sleeping," he said shortly. "Samuel's watching over him. He'll be fine."

"What happened to him?" she asked, surveying the dimly-lit room, the thick curtains covering the windows and only letting small specs of light filter through. Sam swung on her.

"He was turned into a vampire," he snapped. " _My brother_ was turned into a monster. Where the hell were you?"

"Out of town," she said shortly. "What do you mean, Dean was a vampire? Is he not anymore?"

Sam approached her, huge and dangerous in the muddled light. "Don't fuck with me, Eli," he said in a low voice. "You came back, and I thought that things would be all right again, that we'd be fighting side-by-side like we used to. But you _insist_ on being difficult and useless and …." He paused, breathing hard, nostrils flaring. "Cas took you someplace. But he's been back for weeks, and you haven't. He wouldn't say _shit_ to us about you, he barely even answered our prayers. And now you drop back into our lives after weeks, after all the shit we've been through and _you're still not you_."

"I don't owe anything to you!" she finally screamed, balling her hands into fists and staring him down. "I'm a person, damnit, I'm a fucking person too even though I'm not _her_ , I have just as much a right to be here as you do!"

"And where are you when we need you?" he asked hotly. "Where are you when my brother gets turned into a vampire, when Crowley has Bobby's soul, when we fucking need backup and you're just gone with no explanation. I swear to God, if you were just gonna come back to be irritating and fucking useless, you should have stayed gone."

"You know, you're not making me want this," she snapped.

"You don't need to want this," he shot back, suddenly calm again, that eerie, still calmness. "Because I am done explaining things to you. I tried, Eli, I did, but I'm done. I can't wait anymore."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, a little fearfully.

"I wish I could say I'm sorry about this," he said, walking over and pulling the curtains away from the window. "But I'm really, really not."

"Sam!" she screamed, surging forward.

"You're remembering, Eli, whether you want to or not," he said, slamming his hand onto the angel-banishing sigil scrawled in blood on the glass. Eli felt a white-hot blast, like a furnace had opened on her face, and then it blew through her and carried her soul along with it, leaving an empty body slumped on the floor at Sam's feet.

Sam stared at her for a long moment, his face contemplative. Then he knelt down and turned her body so that she was lying on her stomach, face turned to the side, breath shallow. He pulled the Knife from his belt and lifted up the back of her shirt, positioning it above her lower back.

"You made me do this," he muttered apathetically, before cutting into her skin.

Blood welled up, a lot of blood. He wiped it away with a towel and kept carving, until the sigil he had seen Castiel use on Dean appeared, ragged and slick with red. He put the Knife down and held his hand over it, remembering with perfect clarity the Enochian he had heard.

" _Affa ananeal crod-od-zi micma_ …"

A hurricane slammed into Sam, lifting his body and ramming it into the wall, holding him up by the throat. He gasped, struggling to breathe as the pressure crushed his lungs, and Castiel became visible right in front of him.

"How dare you, Sam Winchester," the angel growled, his power still digging into Sam's skin like a thousand tiny knives. "I already gave you one warning. I _told_ you, Sam, I _warned_ you to not touch her or I would hurt you."

"Cas," he gasped, but Castiel didn't release him.

"I was so close!" he yelled, losing his cool in a way that Sam had never seen the old Castiel do. "Do you have any idea the weeks of work I put into her, to gain her trust again? And you've ruined it!"

"Cas," he choked out again, and Castiel abruptly released him, letting him crumple to the floor, wheezing. Castiel knelt and lifted him by his shirt.

"She was _inches_ away from saying yes to me," he said, his voice like cracked gravel, low and impossibly rough. "You would have had what you wanted, you stupid boy. You broke her, Sam, and you hurt her, and set me back _weeks,_ maybe months. How dare you."

He dropped Sam's shirt and stood. Sam pulled himself into a sitting position, rubbing his neck. "I'm sorry, man."

"No, you're not," Castiel said, staring at Eli's unconscious body. "That's what worries me."

He scooped Eli up as if she weighed nothing, cushioning her head against his shoulder, his arms curled protectively around her back and under her knees.

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked hoarsely. Castiel didn't look at him.

"I am tired of giving you warnings, Sam. You forget that I am an angel, and that you are nothing but a man. I care about you like family, but touch her again and I will treat you as an enemy."

He disappeared, leaving Sam alone in an old room in an old house, a blood-soaked Dean still unconscious down the hall, and Samuel crouched by a keyhole, listening.

* * *

Eli awoke, slowly and painfully, to the press of cool fingers against her forehead. When she could open her eyes she blinked, squinting at the oat-colored, unfamiliar ceiling. Then the previous events flooded her mind and she tried to shoot up in the bed, only to discover that her muscles barely worked.

"Be calm," Castiel's familiar voice advised. "You are safe. The feeling of lethargy should only last a few minutes."

"Cas?" she questioned, still attempting to sit up, and he helped her. She leaned against the headboard, surveying the unfamiliar room with its one soft lamp lit in the far corner, throwing everything into shadow. "Where are we? What happened?"

"Your soul was blown out of your body," he informed her, looking at her with grave and serious eyes. The room was dim but his gaze was bright, like he was lit from within. "I helped to guide you back. We're in a hotel room in Ontario, far from the Winchesters. And…I am sorry."

He looked down then, so obviously distressed that Eli leaned forward and put her hand on his knee. "Why?"

"I should have been there," he said, and Eli had the almost irresistible urge to card her fingers through his dark, messy hair. "I had no idea that Sam would try to… but he is different, somehow. Changed."

"What did he do to me?" she asked softly. Castiel's hand covered hers; he turned it over, tracing the lines of her palm with thoughtless motions.

"He remembered the sigil that I carved into Dean. He was trying to replicate it. I have healed most of the wound, but the demon's Knife is difficult to counteract." He paused. "Obviously he didn't succeed."

Part of Eli wished that he would stop touching her like that, trailing her palm with feather-light fingers. It felt too good not to be dangerous. "Don't be sorry," she murmured, and his hand stilled; now she almost wished he would start again. "It's not your fault; you can't be there with me all the time. You're in a war. What Sam did was crazy, and the blame is on him…not you."

Castiel's shoulders slumped as he stared blankly at the floor. Eli laced her fingers in his. "What?" she asked.

He looked at her as if shaken from deep thoughts. "You seem to be the only one who cares that I am at war," he said wearily. "Even though you are the one hurt by it."

"Of course I care," she said, leaning forward. "I care about you. I'm worried for you." He looked at her face in the dim light, her hair tangled and long, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, exactly as he remembered her.

"It would appear that you're alone in feeling that way," he said. She shook his arm.

"Stop that self-pitying crap. I just got knocked out by an eight foot moose and carved up like a steak and you don't hear me whining." She paused as he stared at her from beneath adorably crumpled eyebrows, his jaw a little slack. "And don't be so hard on Sam and Dean," she continued in a softer voice. "They've got heaps of their own crap, and with me dumped on them, it's easy to see how they could be angry and distracted. Just give them time, and—"

She was cut off by the feel of his lips on hers. It was more insistent than their last kiss, but just as warm and soft. He cupped her jaw, his thumb resting near her ear, his fingers in her hair, and drew her to him. She didn't resist, sliding bonelessly into his embrace, hands fisted in his white shirt. She opened her mouth, the feeling of his tongue and the sound of his low hum of pleasure sending all rational thought from her head.

He pulled away fractionally and she whimpered. "Are you…" he started, tracing her body with his hands, fingertips dancing at the edge of her shirt.

"Oh, shut up and kiss me," she said, pushing off his trench coat. "I am—" She gasped as he started kissing her neck, teeth grazing her skin as he pulled her nearly into his lap, "sick and tired of you being so holy, angel."

"Believe me," he rasped in her ear, his voice pitched so low it was almost a growl. "I am done with being holy."

With inhuman grace, Castiel shrugged his jacket off and lifted her shirt over her head before pulling her back to his mouth. Without breaking the kiss Eli straddled him, feeling his arms wrap around as she unbuttoned his shirt and pushed him down on the mattress.

She wanted this, badly. Dreams had been plaguing her almost since she met him, dreams of his hot hot skin, the sounds that he made, the way he gasped her name into her ear. He smelled like summer and something indefinable, something clean and sharp and deep. That smell had been driving Eli crazy since Pompeii, since the night they first kissed. He had the most incredible mouth, and as the days wore on she had driven herself to distraction staring at him, wanting him to a degree that was almost unbearable.

He worked her bra off, his hands cupping her breasts even as he kicked off his shoes and socks and she found herself grappling with his belt. He laughed, low and pleased and somehow relieved, and the belt was gone.

"Perks of being an angel?" she said, leaning over him as he kissed her breasts, her hair creating a yellow curtain around his face. She pressed her nose to the top of his head, breathing in. "I guess it's easy to mojo clothes away."

"Yes," Castiel agreed, pulling her down to him, so that she was flush against his bare chest, the heat and smell of him intoxicating. "But it's not nearly as fun."

Then he rolled them so that he was on top, and slipped his hand in her jeans, showing her exactly why.

"Not…fair," she gasped, arching into him. "You…know all of me, but I don't know… you." It was getting hard to form coherent words that weren't his name or blasphemes.

"Well then," he murmured, entirely too smug at her reaction. "You'll have to learn."

"You'll have – _oh, God –_ to teach me," she whimpered, clutching at him. She found herself kissing every available inch of skin, his face, neck and chest, before biting down on his shoulder in an attempt to keep herself together. "Now mojo pants off before…"

"Before what?" he purred into her hair, and she could feel the smile in his voice.

"Just do it," she ordered, sliding her hand under his waistband and making a moan jump from his throat. "Before I torture you the way you've been torturing me."

He obliged, pulling her to him; she wrapped her legs around his waist, lips on his, making frankly embarrassing breathy sounds into his mouth.

"Wait wait," she gasped, pulling away, and he made an unhappy growl as she wiggled out of his grasp. "Do you need a…"

"Angel," he reminded her, catching her and securing her back under him, hips locking into hers. "It is—" He gave a little cry as she moved against him, "unnecessary."

"You just keep getting better and better," she murmured, and he kissed her again, finally making love to her for the first time.

* * *

At that moment, to Castiel, everything finally felt right. Despite the mess of a world he was stuck in: the war in Heaven, the ever-shifting loyalties of those around him, Crowley and his poisonous words, Sam's odd behavior, Dean's continued anger, despite all of that, he was at peace, because she was with him again.

Time seemed to slow down. He felt that he had time to marvel at all the sensations around him: the heat of her kisses, the salty tang of her skin, how her body felt so smooth under his hands, the sweet noises she was making, the way that she was wringing those same sounds from him. It was perfect, for that moment. He had her, and it was perfect.

Then that moment ended.

She was lying in the crook of his arm, her head nestled on his chest, breathing even but not asleep. Castiel stroked her hair absently, trying to relax, but the guilt welled up again and refused to back down.

He couldn't shake the voice in his head that was telling him that he was manipulating her. He had promised her that what he was doing was not to get her to accept the sigil, that he wanted her for her, and not the other her, the one who never even existed. It wasn't the whole truth; it wasn't even a half-truth. The real truth was what he had said to Sam, in a moment of near-blinding anger: he was shaping her, convincing her, working her over like clay until she gave in and thought that it was her own idea. He felt sick.

Even what they had just done was tainted, using her attraction to him and her hopes for a new future, a new life. He knew that she was scared of the sigil; she had every right to be. Honestly, he didn't know what would happen if she said yes. He didn't know that it wouldn't wash away all that she was now. But he had to try, because he had to, because the need to have her back had taken over his heart and mind, using his body like a puppet. He prayed, over and over again, _Please, Father, if I can have this one thing, just this one thing back, I will be able to survive._

"Hey," she murmured. "Stop that."

"Stop what?" he asked, confused. She snuggled closer to him.

"You're brooding again. Contrary to popular belief that is not attractive." He was silent. She lifted her head and propped her chin on his chest, studying him. "You don't have to feel bad about it, you know."

"About what?"

"What we just did. I know this is a screwed up situation we've got going on here, and if you've got half as many doubts and insecurities flying around in your mind as there are in mine then that really sucks. But we're gonna be okay."

He kissed the top of her head. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I'm awesome like that. And I trust you."

"Maybe you shouldn't," he said, running his hand down the line of her back.

"Eh." She kissed him, softly, on the lips. "But I do. I'm stupid, too, in case you haven't noticed."

"You are not stupid."

"Sure I am." Eli pushed her hair out of her eyes and faced him seriously. "I want the sigil, Cas. I'm ready."

Castiel shook his head. "You're not. You can't be. You just think…"

"That because we slept together I'm not thinking straight, I know. But I've been thinking about this for a long time, I just didn't want to get anyone's hopes up too soon. But I'm ready." She turned his face to hers. "Cas, I'm not afraid anymore. I know I'm gonna say yes eventually and I don't want to wait. We're in this together, okay?"

He kissed her, long and slow, then rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. "Yes."

"Good," she said, sitting up and moving to the foot of the bed. He immediately missed her warmth and followed her, the desire to be near her almost irrepressible. "No time like the present. Can you get the Knife?"

Castiel sighed and twisted his hand, Ruby's Knife appearing in it instantly. "I must warn you," he said, sitting behind her, his hands resting gently on the curve of her hips. "I am not sure how you will react to this. It may be more potent—"

"Cas, love," she said crossly, sounding so much like her old self it was uncanny. "I've made my choice. Carve me up like a Christmas Turkey."

There was fear, buried under her flippant tone, but Castiel chose to ignore it. He told himself that this was what she wanted, and bent to trace the still-ragged lines of Sam's cut near the small of her back.

She let out a long, pained breath. "Shit, this hurts much more when I'm conscious," she muttered. "Ahh, fuck."

"I am sorry," Castiel said, not sure if he was apologizing for the pain or for something deeper. Then he held his palm over the bloody sigil and chanted the incantation.

" _Affa ananeal crod-od-zi micma suni nah…_ "

The words rolled off his tongue, deceptively simple. The light flared. Eli winced. The room went dark as the lamp sputtered and died.

Eli waited. "Is that all there…" she started, half-turning, but then the pain seared through her skull and her skin, like her whole body was cracking.

"Cas!" she screamed, falling to the ground. "It's too much! Cas!"

Castiel tried to reach out to her telepathically, but all he got was a jumble of words and images and power, tumbling over and under each other like a broken dam.

_**Car, woods, bullets, dreams, training, Lucifer, light, first kiss, anger, pain, Heaven, Dean, Zachariah, grace, snow falling like feathers, feet crunching on stone, Gabriel, Sam, circle of fire, heat, Hell, love, Aziraphale, Bobby, wheelchair, shotgun blasts, hospital, sad, hurt, alone, together, disintegrating, running running running, guns, power, light, heat, hot, hot, too hot, fireburningfire….** _

Castiel gasped and pulled away, as light burst from her eyes and mouth with a rushing roar, flooding the room with white fire.

At the center of the explosion, Eli was still screaming.

Outside, beasts began to howl. Demons' eyes shifted black as werewolves lifted noses to the air and vampires scented the wind. Ghosts drifted out of homes and walls. They began to hunger.

They began to run.

 


	9. The Bitch Is Back

 

 

Dean had awoken, was pronounced human, showered, ate, and been gruffly pretending to be fine for three hours when Sam alerted him to the intruder.

"Dean," he snapped, causing Dean to spin around, hand on his gun. The world tipped when he stood fast, swaying slightly, and he had to blink hard for the scene in front of him to come into focus.

"Cas?" he asked, surveying his angelic friend, then looked at Eli, unconscious and writhing in his arms, her clothing ripped and sagging, like it had been put on by somebody who didn't know how. "What the hell is going on?"

"Sam, Dean," Castiel gasped, trying to hold on to his charge as she flailed about like she was having seizures. "I need your help."

"What's happening?" Sam asked, his voice methodical and mildly interested.

"Jesus, Cas, she's seizing," Dean snapped. "Put her on the bed or something."

"Not enough time," Castiel said, grunting as her hand smacked his face. He adjusted her in his arms, trying to hold down all her flailing limbs at once. "We need to get somewhere safe, now."

"Define 'safe'," Sam said.

"Demon-proof, monster-proof. Someplace we can barricade ourselves in." They stared blankly at him. "Now!"

The brothers snapped to attention. "Uh, yeah, but where?" Dean asked.

"Samuel," Sam said, then rolled his eyes at Dean's incredulous stare. "Look, I know you don't like the guy but it's the safest place there is, and you know it."

"Great," Castiel said immediately. "Let's go." They stared at him as if expecting to fly away. He sighed, exasperated. "In the car. I can't fly anywhere; they would be on me instantly. Now _move_ , before they descend on us and we're all dead."

"You brought something with you?" Dean yelled as they grabbed their guns and supplies and ran out of the motel room.

Castiel surveyed the sky with narrowed eyes, as if expecting to see something in it, but it was clear and blue. "It's probable that I was followed," he admitted. "But I needed help."

"And you didn't think to…" Dean started, but Sam put a hand on his arm.

"Dean, enough. No time. We have to go."

As they peeled out of the parking lot, clouds began to roll in from the east.

* * *

"Spill, Cas," Dean said as they sped along the highway toward the Campbell compound. "And can you calm her down?"

Eli was sprawled in the backseat, her head cushioned by Castiel's lap, eyes shut but still struggling, a high-pitched whine coming from her throat. Occasionally she would scream.

"I've already calmed her down," Castiel said, gripping her arms so that she wouldn't hit herself in the face. "It's taking most of my power to _calm her down._ "

"Start from the beginning," Sam said, staring at the road, as if the last time he saw Castiel the angel hadn't threatened him. "Tell us everything."

"The sigil is complete," he said, his voice rough with exhaustion and worry. "But it seems that I…miscalculated the effect it would have on her."

"Meaning?" Dean asked.

"Meaning that a spell on a Nephlim works differently than a spell on a human. Instead of memories returning piece-by-piece it was as if… the other her was pulled forcefully into that body. Her shields started breaking; it's like…" He hesitated, searching for the right words. "It's like her body wants to return to exactly how it was before, both mentally and physically, and is fighting against her Heaven-bound shields." His voice dropped. "She nearly exploded."

"Not to nit-pick, Cas, but don't you think you should have figured that out _before_ you carved into her?" Dean asked in an aggravated voice.

Sam ignored him. "But why are we running?"

"Her power blast occurred on a fundamental level; it resonated with every supernatural being for hundreds of miles on a molecular basis."

"English, Cas," Dean said, still driving at breakneck speed.

"All of the demons, monsters, and ghosts in this state felt the power, and are coming for it. While she is in flux, the power that she is emitting can be…drained. Like a battery. We need to keep her safe until the flux has ended."

"When she's back to normal," Sam clarified.

"I do not know," Castiel said in a sad, self-loathing voice, still holding her thrashing figure down. "I don't know what will happen when the power surge is over. She could be locked in her own head, she could be brain dead, she could lose all her memories. I just don't know."

"Great," Dean muttered. "Just great. So how long with this flux thing last?"

"I don't know."

"Anything you do know?" Dean asked snarkily.

"Look at the sky behind us," Castiel said, and Dean took his eyes off the road for an instant to swivel his head around.

" _Shit,"_ he swore. "Is that big-ass cloud what I think it is?"

"An army," Sam said.

"More like a race," Castiel rasped. "First demon to reach us wins. Dean, drive faster."

* * *

"I swear, every time I see you boys it's like the end of the world," Samuel said in greeting as they got out of the car. "What is it this time?"

"Demon horde," Dean said, just as Sam said: "Monster horde." Dean shot him a look.

"Lots o' shitty things horde, can we just get to locking the damn gates already?" he snapped.

Samuel turned from his contemplation of the quickly approaching surge of black. "Calm down, Dean, we've got the place covered in protection for anything that might come our way. Ain't nothing that can get through."

"Don't be so sure about that," Castiel said, pushing past them with Eli in his arms. "Everyone, get in the building. I am sealing these doors shut from the inside."

"Wild guess, it has to do with that girl, right?" Samuel asked dryly as they closed and locked the heavy metal doors. "Your friend seems to be more trouble than she's worth."

"Don't talk about her like that," Dean said, unexpectedly, and the surprise showed on his face. "I meant to say 'Amen, Gramps'," he continued as Castiel drew sigils on the doors and chanted in a low voice. "But now I just want to punch you in the face. That part's not weird, though," he said on afterthought.

"The sigil's not just about memories, Dean," Castiel said, finishing with his work. "Feelings come through the gap too. Here." He deposited a still-thrashing Eli in Dean's arms, startling the hunter. "We should go deeper. First impact in under three minutes."

"These walls will hold," Samuel said, affronted. Castiel gave him a withering glare.

"Because they held so well against _one_ alpha shapeshifter," he said drily.

"We've revamped the place," Samuel argued. "Like I said, there's nothing—"

"Enough of your pride," Castiel interrupted. "It will do you no good when you're dead. Move."

Samuel grumbled under his breath, but complied.

"T-minus two minutes," Sam said, looking at his watch.

"This section's all locked up," Gwen said, panting and running up to them. Dean looked around.

"Where's everyone else?" he asked, trying futilely to keep Eli from smacking him in the face. "Where's Christian?"

"Hunting," Samuel said shortly as they ran down the stairs, deeper into the complex, slamming and bolting doors behind them, Castiel drawing on the walls with blood. "You don't think they just sit around here all day, do you?"

"Where to now?" Castiel asked in an aggravated voice. Samuel shrugged, glancing around. They were in an underground storage room, long and low, piled with dried goods, canned food, emergency water, old mattresses, medical supplies, candles, and toilet paper. The light was hazy and weak, just old bare bulbs swinging from wires, casting most of the room into shadow.

"This is as low as we go."

"Then this is where we fight," Castiel said, taking Eli from Dean's arms and laying her on a stack of blankets in the corner.

"Thirty seconds," Sam said, loading his shotgun.

"And here they come," Dean murmured.

The first wave hit, shaking the building. Dean could hear the sounds of howls and snarls even from deep underground. Seven minutes passed in hushed silence, all of the hunters staring at the far door, and then the first barrier crashed with a thunderous boom.

"One down, two to go," Gwen whispered.

"How do you like your unbreakable doors now, Gramps," Dean muttered. Sam elbowed him in the ribs. Behind them, Eli let out a well-timed yelp.

"Will someone shut her up?" Samuel snapped, just as the second barrier broke to triumphant howls and a sound like nails on a chalkboard.

Gwen gripped her gun. Dean began to pace. Castiel glowered. Sam just stood very still. The minutes ticked by.

"Oh come on, just do it already," Dean grumbled nervously.

Castiel shifted on his feet, cocking his head. "They're coming."

The rigged explosives went off in the hallway, but a moment later fist-sized dents appeared in the metal door. Castiel continued to listen to something they couldn't hear.

"The traps and spells have taken care of most of them," he said. "There are only about thirty-five left."

"Oh, _only_ thirty-five, thank God," Dean said sarcastically.

Suddenly a ghost appeared in front of them, wicked and see-through with blood-tipped claws. Gwen blasted it with rock salt.

"Incoming!" Samuel yelled as the door burst open and a swarm of monsters flowed in.

"Cas, there's more than thirty-five!" Dean shouted, shooting and repumping as fast as he could.

"I said _about_ thirty-five!" Castiel snapped, laying his hands on two demons and burning them.

"Can't you just do that thing where you burn all their eyes out?" Sam yelled, slashing with the Knife in a brutally efficient manner.

"No," Castiel said, ducking under an attacking shifter and stabbing it in the heart with his angel blade. "Even if I destroy all in this room, there are still more coming. I'm more useful in this form." He laid hands on another demon, watching with satisfaction as it burned. "And I'm not leaving Eli."

"Seems like we might not have a choice!" Samuel yelled, slamming the butt of his gun into a vampire's forehead. "Too many!"

"I'm out of ammo!" Gwen screamed, resorting to hand-to-hand combat. "I need cover!"

"Honey, we all do!" Dean yelled.

Sam just kept cutting a swath through the creatures, something close to a grin on his face. It scared Dean more than all the monsters in the room.

Then he revised that thought. He was _definitely_ more scared of all the monsters in the room. Gwen was already sporting a gash across her chest, while Samuel had blood on his face and a long cut down his side. Castiel was obviously wearing down. Dean lifted his last shotgun, only to hear it click uselessly. _Damn._

"We are so fucked!" he yelled, swinging at a demon. It dodged and came back up, landing a blow to his jaw. Dean felt the world tilt; he was still recovering from being a vampire, and the punch knocked him to the ground and sent his head singing. He stumbled to his feet, only to see the demon point a gun at his chest. He was very sure he was going to die.

A gun went off. Dean instinctively closed his eyes, but nothing happened. He cracked them open again to see the demon fall to the ground, a weak sputtering of red light illuminating his body from within. Another bullet fired, pure white, hitting the vampire that was on Gwen; then another, knocking back a skin-walker struggling with Samuel. Dean turned so hard he nearly gave himself whiplash. He _remembered_ those bullets.

Eli was standing with guns blazing. "Hey kids!" she shouted, firing another round of shots, and the clamor died down. "Ain't no more power here for you to snack on. Just a lot of pissed off motherfuckers with guns. So run for your lives, you sick pieces of shit." She aimed and blew a demon's head off. "The bitch is back."

A roar rumbled through the room, some of the monsters fleeing when they saw that their power source was no longer available, some continuing to fight out of sheer rage. Eli met Castiel's stare and nodded, then screamed: "Shut your eyes!"

All of the humans threw their hands over their eyes as Castiel finally emerged from his vessel, wiping the room clean in a shining burst of light.

* * *

The building was in shambles, beams and tables scattered on the floor, walls blown inward where the C-4 traps had gone off. The hunters picked their way through it, Samuel groaning in despair, Gwen holding her blood-soaked left arm.

"Cas'll take care of it," Dean said with attempted lightheartedness. "Just as soon as he can get back down here. I bet he'll even clean up the place too, considering that it was his ass we were covering."

"Nah, I'll do it myself," Samuel said glumly. "Get a team out here. We got places I don't exactly want God's bloodhound sniffing around, and it's mostly surface damage anyway."

Eli sidled up to Gwen. "May I?" she asked, indicating the injured arm. Gwen held it out, and Eli cupped it in her hands, scrunching up her face in concentration. Finally she let go. "Blood's stopped. If you're not opposed, Cas can finish the job when he gets back. I'm low on juice."

"Oh…yeah," Gwen said lamely, sharing a look with Samuel.

"What kind of juice do you have, exactly?" Samuel asked, side-eyeing her. "You ain't a demon, or monster, I'm pretty damn sure of that. But if I had to hazard a guess I'd say not angel either, at least not like I've seen." Dean opened his mouth as if to argue, but Samuel cut him off. "I just saved you, all of you, and put my own people at risk. So I think I deserve a few answers."

"I'm sorry, but that's just not convenient," Castiel's gruff voice said. Samuel turned and the angel put two fingers on his forehead, knocking him out. Gwen tried to run, but he appeared behind her as well, and a moment later she slumped to the floor.

"Cas, what the hell?" Dean snapped.

Castiel ignored him, instead taking a deep breath and shutting his eyes. Dean blinked, and the hallway was clean, as if the battle had never happened. Samuel and Gwen were healed and in clean clothes; another blink, and they were gone.

"Where did you…" he started.

"To their beds. So they can sleep." He looked at Dean, hard. "They won't remember any of this. We were never here."

"Why?" Sam asked, only to realize that they were back in the motel.

"Cas, stop it!" Dean said. "Enough with the angel mojo. Just talk to us."

"No one can have knowledge of Eli now. She is still weak, and the monsters know that _something_ caused the power surge."

"But he's our Grandfather," Sam said.

"He's not trustworthy," Castiel said shortly. "And I believe that he may have contact with… unsavory third-parties that I do not want privy to this information."

"Who are you talking—" Dean started, but was distracted when Eli stumbled and put her hand on the wall, nearly sinking to her knees. He started to rush to her, but Castiel was already there.

"You have your power back for two minutes and you use it to heal someone else," he murmured to her. She grinned wearily.

"That's me."

He stared at her with an unfathomable gaze. "Is it really?"

Eli nodded. "Yeah, Cas, it is. For better or worse. I remember. I remember everything."

He closed his eyes as if offering up a prayer. "Thank God."

Then he winced, looking skyward. Eli knew immediately. "Heaven wants you."

"Yes. They felt the surge and are looking for answers. I have to make sure they don't get them. Not yet." He brushed her face with his fingertips, a move tender enough that it startled Dean, who was still dreaming patch-work memories at night. "Will you be all right?"

"I'm fine," she said, clasping his hand. "Go."

He nodded and turned to the brothers. "Thank you for your help."

"Wait, Cas, I need to…" Dean started, but Castiel was gone. "Fuck."

"He'll be back, Dean," Eli said, looking at him fondly. Dean shook his head.

"When did you go from being a pain-in-the-ass to being…" He paused as if about to say something else, but just sighed and said: "…a bigger pain-in-the-ass."

"It's good to see you again too, Dean."

"Well then," Sam said, clapping his hands together with something resembling cheerfulness. "Whole gang's back together again, just like old times."

"If only," Dean said, staring at her. Then he sighed and rolled his shoulders before moving purposefully. "I need a drink." He hesitated at the door, looking back at them; they hadn't moved from their spots. "What, do you need an invitation?" he asked belligerently before stomping outside.

"Hey, Sam," Eli said before he could leave the room.

He turned to her. "Yeah, Eli?"

"Happy to have me back?"

He grinned, but it still didn't reach his eyes. "Hell yeah."

"Good. So I'll only have to say this once," she said shortly, pushing past him and into the warm evening light. "Don't ever fucking touch me again." She closed the door in his face.

Dean was waiting by the car, which was magically back in its parking spot. "Where's Sam?" he asked, squinting at the sunset. Eli opened the passenger-side door with more force than necessary.

"He's not coming."

Dean looked, if anything, relieved. "Then I guess it's just you and me and Johnny Walker."

They pulled out of the parking lot, the setting sun throwing bloody pools of light on the Impala, painting it red.

 


	10. Can You Handle It?

 

 

"I know what I saw, Bobby," Dean hissed into the phone.

"We tested him. Salt, silver – everything," Bobby said in the muffled voice of someone propping the phone between shoulder and beard.

Dean shifted on his feet, glancing behind him. Sam was still in the hot-dog line, taller than the rest and conspicuous in his perfectly-pressed suit. A glance to the left and he could see Eli sitting on top of a picnic table, chewing her thumbnail and staring into the wind. "He threw me to that vamp. I'm telling you, it's not my brother."

"Well, then he's something we ain't ever seen before," Bobby said in an even voice. Dean clenched his fists.

"Yeah, or it's fuckin' Lucifer."

"Did you call Cas?" Bobby asked. Dean sighed.

"'Course I called Cas. He's not answering. I don't get him either, man. He went through all this work to get Eli back and then _poof_ , gone the moment she's conscious. Dick won't even come down for _her_ , and with Sam and everything I'm at my worrying threshold." He shot another glance at her. She had been quiet the past few days, too quiet, because now he remembered that she usually talked whenever her mouth was open. He didn't like how she had taken to staring into space, head tilted, like she was trying to figure out exactly who to be. "I want to help, really I do, but all I can think about is Sam and what do you even say to someone who's just had their brain revamped?" He exhaled, feeling exhausted.

"What the hell are you on, boy?" Bobby asked. "Who's Eli?"

"Shit, Bobby," Dean groaned. "I forgot that you haven't been mojo-ed yet."

"What?"

"She's nothing, nobody. I'll explain it later."

"Whatever," Bobby said with an eyeroll so obvious Dean could almost hear it over the phone. "Look, I get it. You're rattled. You're right to be. But when it comes to Sam, let's be professional –"

"Professional?" Dean snapped. "He watched me get turned!"

"What you saw... are you sure that's what you saw?" Bobby asked tentatively.

"Damn it, Bobby, yes. I know," Dean growled.

"Well, _you know_ ain't the same as proof. 'Cause we're talking about –"

"- we're talking about doing something about this, and fast." Dean paused, breathing heavily. "It's not just the vamp, okay? He has been different from the jump. And I think he might have done something to Eli…shit, Bobby, we really gotta get you in the know. Point is, he's freaking me out, okay?"

Bobby groaned. "All right. I'm with you."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Are you?"

He could almost feel Bobby nodding through the phone. "Yeah. I'll hit the books, hard. Just don't shoot him yet, all right? Watch him. We need facts. 'Cause if it ain't Sam... we don't know what it is. And if we're gonna put him down, we need to know how."

"I don't even want to ride in the same car with him, much less work a damn case," Dean grumbled petulantly.

"Get in the car. He's your case," Bobby said in his most crotchety voice.

Dean heard the crunching of boots behind him. A sinking feeling, made up of equal parts fear and nausea, curled in his stomach at the sight of his brother's face, and he shut the phone without a goodbye.

* * *

Eli sat on top of an old wooden picnic table, tracing the knots in the wood thoughtlessly. It reminded her of the table she had sat at with Aziraphale and Crowley in another life, a life that never existed.

She stifled a sob, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. "Get it together, Grant," she muttered to herself. "You're supposed to be tough now, remember?"

But remembering was the problem. She remembered everything, two lives lived, two different girls stuffed in one brain. Sometimes she felt like her head was about to break.

There were conflicting memories, like of her twenty-first birthday: One spent getting giggly and wasted with friends, the other spent tracking a dijnn in North Dakota. Or Christmas when she was twenty: It was either napping by the fire full of cookies and surrounded by loved ones in her family's home, or decorating the spindly tree in Bobby's house and then tucking a blanket around the man after he polished off a bottle of whisky. Or the fourth of July when she was twenty-six, which was either a picnic with an ex-boyfriend under the fireworks or stacking explosives in a house to get to a body under the cement basement.

"Fuck," she whispered, rocking back and forth with her head in her hands. She wished Castiel was there to distract her. "Just…stop, brain."

It was difficult to stop. The moment Eli let her mind wander the dual memories rose up, clashing. Sunday brunches with her girlfriends versus greasy diners and too much beer; traveling in Eastern Europe versus being stuck in a car for sixteen hours to get to a vampire nest; going to class versus staying up all night with dusty tomes of folklore. The parallels were dizzying.

Even her body was revolting, trying to change and stay the same simultaneously. Her power level kept fluctuating, pushing at the barriers, trying to be exactly as it was before. It wasn't quite right, though; she couldn't fly, or heal very well, or do much at all besides the basics, and even that exhausted her. She felt nauseous.

"Yo, Eli!" Dean yelled, motioning for her. "Get your ass over here, we're leaving! And if you don't hurry, your hotdog will be in my stomach!"

Eli shook her head, blinking hard. She took a deep breath and hopped off the table. "Coming!"

She was fine, she told herself. She was going to be fine.

* * *

Now that she could remember her other life, Sam's behavior seemed doubly strange: his fake smiles, the way his forehead never crinkled with emotion, how his eyes were always flat and calculating.

She watched the way that he interacted with a grieving sister. "You're lying," he was saying with the hint of a snake-grin. The sister looked scared and nervous.

"What?" she asked nervously. Sam fixed her with an unblinking stare.

"Tell us what you did to your sister," he said with clear threat. Eli and Dean shared a pained look.

The sister started to sob. "Okay. You're right. I was lying. I wanted to tell her: _I love you, I'm here for you._ Oh, but what came out was: _You're a burden, just kill yourself_. Who says that? I just couldn't stop!" She broke down, unable to speak anymore.

Dean pulled Eli aside as they were approaching the front door. "You see what I mean?" he murmured.

"This is scary, Dean," she whispered. "Real scary. And there's something…I don't know, it's like there's something _not there_ about him, something that should be."

"What do you mean?"

She shook her head. "I can't explain. He's just…lacking. Like an arm has been cut off but no one realizes it's gone."

"Cryptic comments and someone gone darkside," Dean said, then clapped her on the shoulder as they walked out of the house. "I've missed this."

* * *

Later that day, Eli was lying on Sam's unused bed, massaging her temples and trying to keep her mind blank. She perked up when she heard Dean talking to Bobby in a hushed voice.

"Yeah, my skin crawls being in the same room with him. Why don't you look that up?" He paused, listening. "I don't know how much longer I can do this, Bobby. You got to figure out what the hell he is and fast." Another pause. "What, Satan's my co-pilot? Yeah, I know….well, what then?" He hesitated, then shook his head vehemently.

"No, Bobby, listen. Even E… someone I consulted knows that something's wrong with him. She said that it's like he's missing something." A pause, a sigh. "Yes, I mean 'that Eli person', no I won't explain right now."

"Hi Bobby!" she piped up from behind Dean's shoulder. Dean swatted her away.

"What? No, it's nothing. You got a day, Bobby, and then I'm handling this." He hung up, and spun on Eli. "What was that?"

"Um, saying hi?" she said, shrugging. Dean glowered.

"He doesn't remember you, stupid. He thinks I'm ten kinds of crazy and shacking up with some chick."

"Oh shit," Eli said, covering her mouth and giggling. "I never thought of that."

"Yeah, we're gonna need to carve him a sigil. If we can get him to say yes, which I doubt."

"Let me handle that," she said, then winced and held her hand to her temple.

"You okay?" Dean asked, steadying her. She nodded.

"Yeah. Just got a lot of new stuff up in my head, you know? My brain's having a hard time sorting through it all."

"Tell me about it," Dean said ruefully. "You hear from Cas at all?"

Eli hesitated before shaking her head. "No."

"Well screw him," Dean said gruffly, starting as his phone rang. He talked briefly with Sam, then hung up and stood. "Come on," he said, grabbing his coat. "Someone else has died."

* * *

Dean swigged his whisky, spinning the computer so that Eli could get a better look. "So? What do you think?"

"Gabriel's horn?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't know he had one." Dean grinned and opened his mouth and she held her hand out. "Don't. Just…don't."

He chuckled and drained his drink. "Hate to say it, Blondie, but it's nice to have someone to talk to who I'm not afraid is going to kill me in my sleep."

"Oh good, so you didn't see me last night," she said, wiggling her eyebrows. He pointed at her.

"I'm going to take that as a joke."

"I'm just glad the window has such nicely oiled hinges. Swings open without a sound."

"Har har," Dean said. He paused, staring at the picture on the screen. "Still, it would be nice, wouldn't it? Horn of truth. Get all the answers."

"Be careful what you wish for," Eli said cynically. "Especially when it comes to angels."

"Speaking of dicks with wings, what do you think about calling Cas on this one?" He looked at the doubtful expression on her face and his voice softened. "Look, I know it's been tough, him not being around and all. But he did say he's looking for the weapons. So maybe he'll come."

Eli shrugged. "Guess we have no choice. Will you do the honors?"

"Why am I the one who always has to pray?" he asked grumpily, eyeing the whisky bottle across the room. She elbowed him.

"Because you do it so nicely. Come on."

Dean sighed and put the glass down. "Fine. But only because I have a new memory of you giving me pie once." He straightened his shoulders and closed his eyes. "Castiel? Hello? Possible loose nuke down here, angelic weapon. Kinda your department. You hear that, Cas?"

There was the sound of wings. "Hello."

Dean stood, suddenly a lot more belligerent. "Are you kidding me? I have been on red alert about Sam, Eli's had her brain rebooted, and you come for some stupid horn?"

Castiel looked uncomfortable, carefully not meeting Eli's eyes. "You asked me to be here, and I came."

"I - I've been asking you to be here for days, you dick!" Dean sputtered.

Castiel stared at the floor. "I didn't come about Sam because I have nothing to offer about Sam."

"Well, that's great, because for all we know, he's just gift wrap for Lucifer," Dean spat.

Castiel shook his head slowly, looking impossibly exhausted. "No, he's not Lucifer."

Dean had picked up his empty glass, and he was surprised when Castiel reached for the whiskey bottle and unscrewed the top. "And how you know that?"

Castiel stepped forward and refilled Dean's glass. He looked so drained that Dean could barely believe he was an angel. "If Lucifer escaped the cage, we'd feel it."

"What is wrong with him?" Dean asked pleadingly.

Castiel shook his head. "I don't know, Dean. I'm sorry."

Dean felt a surge of anger break to the surface. "And what the hell about Eli? You pushed that sigil on her, and had us cover your ass when it blew up in your face, and now she's got to deal with all of the shit you've put on her and you're just gone. She needs you, man, and where the fuck are you?"

"Fighting a war!" Castiel snapped, glaring at him.

Dean rubbed his eyes, exhausted. "What happened to you, Cas? I thought you were supposed to be more human now. I mean, you're not even looking at her!" He spun on Eli. "What is with you? Don't just stand there, say something!"

"Dean…" she said softly.

"I'm at war," Castiel said in explanation. "My time is precious."

" _Your time is precious?_ " Dean said in a passable impression of the angel's rasp. "Are you fucking kidding me? Sam is fucking possessed or something and Eli is like, a brand new person, and you just don't have _time_ for us?"

"How many times can I say this, Dean?" Castiel said in a surly voice. " _I am at war._ I am constantly in battle. Certain... regrettable things are now required of me."

Dean stared at him, but he didn't offer any more information. Dean sighed. "And Gabriel's Horn of Truth? That's a real thing?"

Castiel perked up. "You've seen it?"

"We think it's in town," Eli said tentatively, stepping forward. "Something's forcing people..."

Castiel was gone.

"Oh, well, you're welcome!" Dean yelled to the room. He swung on Eli. "Seriously, why are you taking this? After what he's done to—"

Castiel reappeared in the room, looking hassled. "It isn't the Horn of Truth."

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked. "You were gone for like two seconds. Where did you look?"

Castiel shrugged. "Everywhere."

Dean rolled his eyes and turned away. "Right. Well, nice seeing you, anyway."

Castiel met Eli's eye and she nodded slightly. He cleared his throat. "Dean."

"What?" Dean snapped petulantly.

Castiel shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "About your brother. I... I don't know what's wrong with him, but I do want to help. I'll make inquiries." He hesitated, glancing at Eli. "And Eli, I'll, uh…I'll talk to you later."

A fluttering of wings, and he was gone.

Dean scoffed. "Yeah. Thanks." He took a drink, side-eyeing Eli. "And what about you? Since when are you a fucking doormat for angel-boy?" Eli didn't meet his gaze. Dean sighed. "Maybe I was wrong about you, too. I'm going out." He grabbed his coat. "Just…research or something, okay?"

Eli waited until he was out the door to sink onto the bed, her head in her hands. "Shit."

* * *

They all met up at the house of 'patient zero', the woman who killed herself days before any of the other suicides occurred. Dean was acting strange, nervous but excited. He waited until they were all gathered in the stairwell to speak.

"What's going on?" Eli asked, readjusting her suit and smoothing down her hair. "What'd you find out?"

"Later," Dean said shortly. "There's a few things I want to ask you, both of you, and you're gonna tell me the truth."

Sam and Eli glanced at each other, and for the first time Eli felt like she was in Sam's court.

"Uh, yeah, Dean," Sam said carefully. "Of course. What are you talking about?" He tilted his head, sizing Dean up. "Whoa. Are you saying you're..."

"I asked for the truth," Dean said, and Eli's mouth dropped, a tendril of worry winding its way through her stomach. "And you know what? I'm getting it. So, like I said, I have a few questions for you. When that vamp attacked me, why did you just stand there?"

For one long tense moment, Sam didn't move, his jaw slack. Then he wrinkled his eyebrows and said, in a convincingly hurt voice: "I didn't. I froze."

"You froze," Dean said flatly. "You have been Terminator since you got back."

"I don't know," Sam said lamely. "Shock? And then it was too late. I feel terrible about it. Believe me. Dean... I can't lie here." He turned on his puppy-eyes full force, but something about it still looked fake. "Do you really think I would let something like that happen on purpose? You're my brother. How could you even –"

"Okay," Dean said, holding up his hands. "Okay. Sorry. I thought… I thought I saw something." He turned to Eli, but there was no zeal in him now. "And you. Do you know what's going on with Cas? Do you have details? It's scaring me, man, with his brain screwy from the time-jump and he's acting all shady. I just feel like you're…hiding something from me."

Eli felt strange, like someone was trying to wrench words from her lips. It was uncomfortable, but not insurmountable. She worked her jaw for a moment, then finally got the right words out. "No, Dean. I don't know anything. Sorry."

Dean blinked at her, nonplussed. "Oh. I... I guess I was wrong. It's just been a really, really bad day."

Sam put his hand on Dean's arm. "Hey. It's okay. I got your back, all right? I always have."

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean said, sounding slightly relieved. He glanced at her. "Sorry, Eli. I guess I'm a bit touchy lately."

"It's fine, Dean," she said, biting her lip. "Don't worry about it."

Sam looked at her, his gaze blank. She stared straight back.

* * *

As she expected, he was there when she unlocked her room that night. Eli sighed and shut the door, latching it with more force than necessary.

"We might have a problem."

 


	11. In Vino Veritas

 

 

He didn't say anything, just came up behind her as she closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the closed door. "It's Dean. He's cursed."

"I know," Castiel said, wrapping his arms around her from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder. She could tell that he had taken his coat and suit-jacket off, the thin white shirt cool against her skin and smelling like something musky and delicious. "The Goddess Veritas is in this town, but she is hiding herself even from me. I cannot help."

"It's not that," Eli said hesitantly, leaning into him. "He's cursed with the truth, and he's asking questions. About us."

"But you were able to resist," Castiel murmured, pushing her hair away and pressing small kisses to the side of her neck. "Therefore it is not a problem."

"Something could happen," she insisted. "He could find out."

"Dean is too deep in his own problems to worry about us," Castiel said in a very soft voice, his lips right next to her ear. He slipped her black blazer off and reached around her again, slowly unbuttoning her shirt.

"Are we doing the right thing?" Eli asked, sighing pleasurably as he finished undoing her buttons and ran his warm hands across her cool skin.

Castiel moved his hands to her shoulders and turned her, looking into her eyes seriously. "Dean is…selfish," he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "If he knew that I had even the slightest moment free from the war, he would command me into service to him and his brother, and insult and berate me if I did not comply. I am tired of being called a 'dick', Eli. He does not understand that I am not a machine who can never be turned off. He does not understand that I am different from the Castiel he knew. I _need_ this, Eli, and if he knew he would just attempt to take it away from me."

Eli nodded, closing her eyes and leaning into him, feeling his arms wrap around her as she pressed her face into his shirt. "I need it too," she confessed. "Sometimes when you're not here, I feel like I'm going to crack from all of the memories. It's even worse on the nights when you can't come; I can't even sleep, I just lie there." She hugged him tightly, gripping the back of his shirt. "I can't handle it on my own."

"I am here whenever I can be, you know that," he murmured. She nodded into his chest.

"How long do you have tonight?"

"Several hours." She looked up at him in surprise; usually he could only spare twenty minutes away from the war. "One of my generals is, uh, 'holding down the fort.' We have time."

Impulsively she leaned up at kissed him. He kissed her back, slowly and softly, before taking her in his arms and carrying her to the bed.

* * *

"Wow, we actually get to cuddle tonight," she said some time later. Castiel sighed contentedly as she ran her fingers through his hair, his cheek cushioned by the swell of her breasts.

"I sometimes wonder how he lived," he said, tangling his feet in hers. Eli glanced down at the top of his head.

"Who?"

"The Other Castiel. The one I replaced. He was so alone. Every living thing needs affection. He must have been very broken."

"He had Sam and Dean," she countered. Castiel made a noise in the back of his throat.

"That's probably why he was broken."

They were silent for a few minutes. Then he said, in a low rasp: "Do you regret it? "

"Which part?" Eli asked wryly.

Castiel pulled her closer, his stubble rough against her skin. "Saying yes to me. Letting me take you away. I know how hard the memories have been for you. So many bad things…"

"So many good things too," she insisted. "Cas, do you know what I was doing on September 25, 2009? I was at home, painting my toenails and watching _Friends_ reruns while eating Chinese takeout." She paused. "Do you know what I did that night in the other reality? I saved a family of four from the ghost of an arsonist. I looked them up, a few days ago. They burned that night, in their beds. Two little kids; the boy was four, the girl just turned two." Her voice caught. "I should have been there to save them, Cas. And saving them would have been worth all the bad memories and tough times. So no, I don't have an ounce of regret in me, not an ounce. I just wish it could have happened sooner. Not to mention…" Eli stopped and tried to swallow around the huge lump in her throat, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. "If I had continued to live that life I would have never met you. And that's just…unacceptable. That's not a life."

Castiel didn't answer, just pulled himself up to her lips and kissed her deeply, like if he kissed her enough it would wipe away all the bad things that were happening. It didn't, but it helped. When they broke apart she took a deep breath and blurted out the question that had been on her mind since the moment she got her memories back. "Did I do the right thing? Should I have waited for another solution instead of changing history? All those people, Cas, all that life I could have saved. All the good I did. Gone. Just gone. The fact that I remember it now doesn't change anything. They're dead because of me."

Castiel stared into space, absentmindedly rubbing her shoulder with his thumb. "I wish I could say that it was a mistake," he finally said. "I wish I could say that there was another way to do it. Maybe there was. But if Remiel and Sariel had captured you, all of the people you saved would still have died, and a lot more. Everyone. It would have been worse than the battle between Michael and Lucifer. It would have been total genocide of the human race. And you would have been…enslaved. Forever." He shifted his gaze back to her, his eyes serious and unblinking. "This world is not the same one we left. But we can make it better. We can save it."

Eli bit her lip. "The grace, right?"

He nodded. "This war will be easier when you are an angel again. I will be able to share more with you, information that now you cannot understand. And we will win. Together. We'll be happy."

"I…" she started, her voice cracking. "I'm scared."

"I know," he said, burying his face in her hair and breathing in deeply, his voice a low rumble. "I know that you weren't happy in Heaven. But it will be better this time, I promise. I will make it better."

He said it with such conviction that Eli almost believed him.

"Will you say it?" he whispered, hopefully.

Eli hesitated, then shook her head. "No," she said, and his shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry Cas, I feel it too now, broken inside of me. I know how much it hurts. But I'm still adjusting to all of this. Give me time…I'll still be here."

"But I could help," he insisted, raising his head and meeting her eyes again. "I could help temper the memories, if we were bonded again."

"This is something I have to do on my own," she said with finality. "Hey, hey now." She lifted his chin and kissed him softly on the mouth. "I'm already yours. We're just waiting to make it official."

He nodded glumly. "I…understand."

"Silly angel," she chided, kissing his mouth, then chin, chest, the flat plane of his abs, working her way down his body. "If you don't believe me, I'll just have to show you." She pressed her lips to the lean curve of his hips, tracing the bone with her mouth.

Castiel tried to say something else but instead let out a slow gasping " _Oh,"_ too distracted to speak.

* * *

Eli sat on the bed, watching Castiel fumble with his tie in front of the mirror. She finally laughed, shaking her head, and hopped off the covers.

"One of these days you're gonna have to learn how to tie this thing," she said, reaching her arms around him and knotting it with deft fingers.

"How will I learn if someone is always there to tie it for me?" he asked with a relaxed smile. She noticed it and brought her hand up to tap his mouth with her finger.

"I like this. I don't see it a lot."

"Others never see it," he said, turning around and wrapping her in his arms again. He sighed, fingers trailing her still-bare back. "I must leave. I've stayed too long as it is."

"And I need some sleep." A knock on the door. Eli groaned. "Which, apparently I'm not going to get."

"Hey Eli, get up! We've found something!" Sam's voice said through the door.

"Not right now!"

"Why not?" Sam snapped.

"Um, because I'm naked?" she drawled. A pause.

"Since when do you sleep naked?"

"Since when is it your business how I sleep?" she yelled. "Go away! I'll be there in five."

Eli waited until she heard the stomp of his boots down the corridor before turning back to Castiel. "There's something else I wanted to tell you," she said in a worried voice. "It's Sam…I think he's lying. But with Veritas around, that shouldn't be possible. Unless he's…"

"Not human. I know." Castiel sighed. "I have…theories, about Sam."

"Theories?"

Castiel hesitated. "It's possible that the Other Castiel had something to do with Sam being alive," he said carefully. "I don't know the circumstances of his resurrection because I wasn't here yet, but I'm going to find out. I promise you." He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. "I must go."

"Wait, what do you mean he might have—" Eli started, but Castiel was already gone. She groaned. "That's what I get, shacking up with an angel."

A fist pounded on the door. "Aren't you dressed yet?" This time it was Dean's voice yelling at her. "Move it, Blondie, we've got a God to kill!"

* * *

"Looks pretty normal, right?" Sam said in a hushed voice, staring at the huge, block-shaped house in front of them.

"I'm sure inside it's chock full of creep," Dean said darkly as the lights inside clicked on and Ashley Frank walked in.

"House full of windows with no curtains, that's pretty creepy if you ask me," Eli muttered. She was finally starting to feel like her old self again: Cargo pants and an old shirt, no makeup, hair in the high buns she hadn't worn in such a long time. "Who wants people to be able to see them while they watch TV and eat cereal?"

"Attention whores, that's who," Dean said, handing her a knife. "Ready?"

Sam held up a jar of liquid. "Yep."

Eli scrutinized the jar. "Dog's blood?" she guessed, wrinkling her nose. Dean frowned.

"Do I even want to know where you got that?"

"Probably not," Sam said blithely as Dean made an uncomfortable sound in the back of his throat. Sam ignored him and instead dipped his knives into the blood before holding the jar out for Eli. She sank her knife into the gooey mixture, then tapped it on the edge of the glass, careful not to get any droplets on the upholstery.

Dean took his knife, opening the door. "Let's go."

* * *

Ten minutes later, and all three of them were trussed up on a filthy, bloody floor, hands behind their backs, a dangling human torso swaying gently on a metal hook in front of them.

"Oh yes, I almost forgot," Eli hissed, struggling with her bonds, one of her buns falling out and tumbling hair across her blood-smeared face. "I'm hunting with the Winchesters again. Getting captured and nearly eaten is just a day that ends in Y for you, isn't it?"

"Can it Sailor Moon, you got captured too," Dean grumbled, trying vainly to free himself.

"Just sit tight," a new voice said, and Eli jerked her head up to see Veritas, in full Goddess-mode, looking impossibly beautiful and monstrous. She grinned, pointing to a skinned body on the table, its entrails hanging pitifully from its gut. "You're up next." She reached in the corpse's mouth with forceps and started to pull, until the tongue finally slipped out. Eli gagged and turned away to see Sam slowly drop a switchblade into his hand. He met her gaze and nodded.

Veritas was still speaking. "The tongue... is the tastiest part. It's where the lies roll off." She closed her eyes and took a bite, savoring it. Dean made a choking noise in the back of his throat. Veritas opened her eyes again, smirking at them. "I cannot wait to eat yours. I mean, I've seen liars before, but you three? Gold standard." She put the tongue on the table and strode to Dean, her hips swaying.

Dean tried his patented 'I'm trying to look cocky so you can't see that I'm scared shitless' look. "Point of professional pride."

"I wouldn't be so cocky if I were you, Dean," Veritas said, crouching next to him. Eli, on the other side of Sam, had to crane her neck to watch the exchange. Veritas trailed her fingers along Dean's neck in a move that on anyone else would have looked sexy. "You know what happens when you base your life on lies, right? The truth comes along and..." She grinned triumphantly. "So, while you've still got your tongue, God knows you've got an earful. I think it's your turn to spill some. How 'bout we play a little truth or truth?" Her eyes sparkled with bloodlust. "What should we ask Dean first, hmm?" Veritas asked, addressing Sam. "Something... personal? about you?" She winked at Eli. "Family first right? And believe me, no matter what they say, you are not family to them. But more on that later." She swung her inhuman gaze back to Dean. "Hey, Dean, I'm curious. What do you really feel about your brother?

Dean hesitated for a fraction of a second before succumbing. "Better now," he admitted. "As of yesterday, I wanted to kill him in his sleep." Sam's eyes widened, but Dean just kept talking. "I thought he was a monster. But now I think..."

Veritas egged him on gleefully. "Now you think what?"

Dean hung his head. "He's just acting like me."

"What do you mean?" she asked, smilingly widely.

"It's the gig," Dean said in a sad voice. Eli risked a glance at Sam; his knife was halfway through the rope. "You're covered in blood until you're covered in your own blood. Half the time, you're about to die. Like right now. I told myself I wanted out... that I wanted a family."

"But you were lying," Veritas said, savoring the word.

Dean shook his head stubbornly. "No. But what I'm good at is slicing throats. I ain't a father. I'm a killer. And there's no changing that. I know that now."

"Hmm," Veritas drawled. "What a sad story. But it gets worse, doesn't it? Who else have you been lying to? How about the tasty blonde over there. Lying to her too, Dean?"

"I can't…" he started, coughing, his voice breaking. "I hate that I remember the other life now. I hate that she had to come back and remind me of how things used to be. I was getting by before, because I thought, hey, if things suck it's not like they were peachy to begin with, right? But now I know that it was better, and every day is just a reminder that now it's not." He met Veritas' eyes as if compelled to. "She didn't have the right to change history, she didn't have the right to fuck all of our lives up! It's not fair! It's not fair that she gets to come back and pick up where she left off, like nothing's changed when _everything's changed_! Everything—Sam being all fucked up, Cas being different, this world, this fucking tragedy of my life is because of her and I _hate_ her for that! I wish she had never come back so that I would have never had to remember!"

He finally stopped, breathing harshly and dropping his head. Eli's mouth was hanging open at a slack angle, her face horrified.

"Good boy," Veritas said in a satisfied voice, patting Dean on the shoulder and standing. "And my, what a story. Changing history? That's big, especially for you." She walked slowly, pausing as if to stop by Sam but instead moving past him. "With all that new information, let's go next to the odd man out. Or should I say, odd woman out. The one who shouldn't even be here. The one who's not even family. The tag-along." She knelt and Eli leaned away, yanking fruitlessly at her bonds. "So what's the truth, Eli? What do you have to say for yourself?"

The urge to speak was almost overpowering. "Nuh…nothing," Eli sputtered. "I just feel…sorry that Dean feels that way."

Veritas pouted. "You don't think you're going to get away that easily, do you? Especially not when you have all those juicy secrets up in your head." Eli tried to turn away but the Goddess reached forward and put her hands on Eli's face. "What secrets have you been keeping from Dean, Nephilim?"

The touch was too much to take. Like Veritas was ripping the words from her mouth, Eli gasped: "I hate how he treats Cas and me, like we're just interlopers to his family unit. I'm not surprised that he hates me now because that's what he does: gets pissed and distances himself from everyone. He acts so righteous but he gives up on everyone the moment they don't do what he wants them to, with the exception of Sam. Sam could blow up the world and Dean would never abandon him. But what about the rest of us who have died for him? Where's our undying loyalty?"

"Go on," Veritas murmured.

"You think changing history was a fucking cakewalk for me? I'm _miserable_. How do you think it feels to be responsible for so much death? To know the names and faces of everyone that I once saved? To know that I'm essentially the reason Sam went to hell? To wonder, day in and day out, if I did the right thing? I don't even know who I am anymore! I don't know who to be! I'm trying to be two people at once every minute of the day, and it's breaking me apart!"

"So what have you been doing?" Veritas prompted.

Eli looked at Dean through tear-filled eyes, Veritas' hands still on her face. "I've been seeing Castiel," she confessed. "He comes to me almost every night." Dean's shocked face darkened and he looked away, but Eli couldn't stop talking. "He's not a machine, Dean, he needs me! He needs some kind of contact that is loving and not the relentless barrage of insults you throw his way! I'm sorry I didn't tell you but I couldn't. You think everything revolves around you and Sam, but you're not the only two people in the world!"

She fell silent then, gasping for breath, tears running down her face.

"Isn't this fun?" Veritas asked, finally removing her hands from Eli's face and moving to Sam. Eli sagged like a puppet whose strings had been cut, trying to regain her free will. "And now, for the coup de gras. After everything you've been through, Dean, with your world changing and your life shattering, Sam being alive must have been a relief. Hmm? Mallory to your Mickey. And how do you feel about the band getting back together, Sam?" She crouched next to him, beaming.

Sam paused, swallowing hard. "Look... what we do... is hard. But...we watch out for each other. And that's what's important." He shrugged, and even Eli felt the wrongness of his statement. "And that's it. That's the truth."

Veritas looked at him, confused. "No. No, it's not."

Sam looked at her calmly. "You said yourself - I can't lie."

Eli didn't like the panicked look on Veritas' face. The Goddess cupped Sam's cheeks with her hands, but it did nothing. She dropped his face and backed away, shaking her head. "How are you doing that? That's not possible." She glared at him with loathing. "You're _lying_ to me!"

"No, I'm not!" Sam insisted.

"What are you?" she demanded. She spun on Dean, then on Eli. "What is he?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sam said evenly.

"Really?" Veritas snarled. "I doubt that. I doubt anything that comes out of your mouth right now." She bared her teeth. "You're not human."

"What?" Dean and Eli exclaimed together.

"You two didn't know that?" Veritas asked coldly. "Now, _that_ I believe."

Sam's knife sliced through the last of the rope, and he sprang into action, sliding the knife to Dean and leaping at Veritas. Eli couldn't wait, so she closed her eyes and concentrated, feeling the once-familiar white fire burn through the ropes. It was easy and hard at the same time, like remembering how to ride a bike when you couldn't remember learning. She knew what to do, but the sensations were still unfamiliar to this body.

Eli wrenched Veritas away from Sam and shoved the cat-faced goddess into the hook Dean was swinging. It impaled her just as Sam scrambled to his feet and sunk the dog-blood soaked knife into her chest. She swayed for an instant before going down with a crash, her eyes open and staring.

Sam took a deep breath and turned to his brother, but Dean just stared wildly, brandishing a knife. "Dean, it's me," he said, glancing to Eli for help, but she had found her gun and was pointing it in his direction, her face wary. "Guys, come on! It's me!"

"You are not my brother," Dean growled. Sam held his hands out, backing up as Dean advanced.

"Just listen," he pleaded.

"What are you?" Dean shouted.

"I'm me, Dean. Look, please, just let me explain," Sam said quickly. He looked at Eli, still standing stock-still with her gun pointed in his direction. "Come on, Eli, not you too. It's _me_."

"Why the hell should we believe anything you say?" Dean snarled.

"Okay, okay," Sam said, and stopped backing up. "You want the truth? Here it is. God's honest." He took a deep breath. "She was right. There's something wrong with me, really wrong. I've known it for a while. I lied to you. Yeah. And...I let you get turned by that vamp. Because I knew there was a cure, Dean, and we needed in that nest! And I knew you could handle it!" He voice ratcheted up a few notches as Dean edged closer.

"Handle it? I could've died! I could've killed Ben!" Dean yelled.

"And that should stop me cold," Sam acknowledged. "But I - I just don't feel it."

Dean paused. Eli dropped her weapon fractionally, listening but not wanting to interfere. "You what?"

"Ever since I came back, I am a better hunter than I've ever been. Nothing scares me anymore! 'Cause I can't feel it. I don't know what's wrong with me." He paused, breathing heavily. "I think... I need help."

Dean stared for a long moment, studying him through narrowed eyes. After some thought he put the knife down and edged closer to his brother, his eyes still watching Sam's face. When they were close enough to touch Dean set his jaw and punched him.

Sam didn't fight back. He let himself fall to the ground as Dean pummeled him, landing his fists across Sam's face again, and again, and again. Even when Sam had blacked out, his face a mess of blood and snot and broken teeth, Dean continued to punch, cracking bone.

"Dean stop!" Eli screamed, grabbing at the larger hunter. "Enough, enough, you'll kill him! Dean!" She managed to latch on to his arm and haul him to his feet.

Dean stopped, panting heavily, and stared with cold eyes at Sam's unconscious form. Then he turned on Eli, yanking his arm out of her grip.

"Why are you even here?" he yelled in her face, pushing her so hard that she stumbled and fell. "You should have just stayed gone!"

For a moment Eli thought that he was going to start hitting her too, but he just shook his head with a disgusted look and marched out the door, leaving Eli alone in a room full of corpses and the unconscious body of his brother.

 


	12. Family and Other Matters

 

 

Eli sat there for a few minutes, rocking back and forth and trying to get herself together. She finally wiped her eyes, stood, and was debating the probability that she could somehow move Sam's giant knocked-out moose-body by herself when she blinked and they were both somewhere else.

"Cas!" she exclaimed when she saw him. Eli was so relieved that she decided to screw propriety and pull the beleaguered angel into a hug. Over his shoulder she could see Sam, now tied to a chair and partially healed, but still bloody and unconscious. "Dean called you?"

"Didn't really have much of a choice, did I?" Dean's snarky voice sounded from behind her. Eli released Castiel and turned to see Dean sitting on the bed, drinking whiskey from the bottle.

"Dean—" she started.

He stood up and pointed at her. "No. Not now. You and me, we got things to work out. Cas too. But this time is for my brother. We might all hate each other but he comes first, okay?" He glared at her like he expected her to contradict him.

Eli merely nodded. "Of course," she said solicitously. "We have to find out what is wrong with Sam."

Castiel had clearly been on the receiving end of some yelling of his own, because he was silent as he inspected Sam, his brow furrowed. He had that deeply pained look that Eli hated to see, that he had most of the time now when they weren't alone, that look that said that the world was a grey place and he was just so tired of living in it.

"You're right. He looks terrible," Castiel finally ventured to say, just as Sam let out a pained groan and cracked open his swollen eyes. "You did this?"

"Cas?" Sam asked fuzzily, stumbling over the word. He began to struggle in his bonds. "What's - Let me go!"

Castiel ignored him. "Has he been feverish?"

"Have you?" Dean snapped. Sam looked up, his eyes slightly less hazy.

"No. Why?"

"Is he speaking in tongues?" he asked Dean, then spun on Sam. "Are you speaking in tongues?"

"No," Sam said belligerently. "What are you... are you diagnosing me?"

"You better hope he can," Dean said in a sour voice.

Sam began to struggle again. "You really think that this is –"

"What, you think that there's a clinic out there for people who just pop out of hell?" Dean said bitingly, jabbing his finger in Sam's direction. "Wrong. He asks, you answer! Then you shut your hole. You got it?"

Sam was silent. Castiel turned back to him. "How much do you sleep?"

Sam fidgeted for a moment, then mumbled: "I don't."

"At all?" Dean asked, astonished. Eli just leaned against the far wall and crossed her arms, listening interestedly as the brothers went back and forth.

"Not since I got back," Sam said.

"And it never occurred to you that there might be something off about that?"

"Of course it did, Dean. I just never told you."

"What?"

"Sam," Castiel interrupted, with a hint of exasperation. "What are you feeling now?"

Sam scoffed, his teeth still bloody. "I feel like my nose is broken."

Castiel shook his head. "No, that's a physical sensation. How do you feel?"

Sam tried to deflect. "Well, I think –"

" _Feel_ ," Castiel stressed. Eli leaned forward, interested.

Sam was stuttering. "I...don't know." Castiel shared a significant glance with Dean, who was watching the proceedings with a growing look of horror on his face. Castiel's eyes flickered to Eli, and she immediately recognized the flash of fear and guilt that he quickly schooled into a more neutral expression.

He turned back to Sam, undoing his belt and pulling it out. Eli raised her eyebrows as he folded it and held it up to Sam's mouth. "This will be unpleasant," Castiel intoned as Sam stared at him like he was crazy. "You must bite down on this."

After a few tense seconds, Sam complied. Castiel leaned forward, his hand right below Sam's ribcage. "If there's someplace that you find soothing, you should go there," he said softly and with clear regret. "In your mind."

Slowly he began to push, a white light shining as his hand disappeared into Sam's body. Sam began to scream, the veins in his neck glowing electric red as Castiel searched. When it was finally over Sam slumped, his breathing ragged, still making unpleasant groans of pain.

"Did you find anything?" Dean asked immediately. Castiel closed his eyes, as if his worst fears had been confirmed.

"No."

"So that's good news?" Dean said hopefully, ignoring the angel's expression. Castiel opened his eyes.

"I'm afraid not. Physically, he's perfectly healthy."

"Then what?"

Castiel stared at him, looking defeated. "It's his soul. It's gone."

* * *

Going to Samuel's made Eli distinctly uncomfortable, but she guessed that she didn't have a choice. It made her even more uncomfortable when they passed Christian in the hallway, and she immediately saw that he was a demon.

"D—" she started, staring at Christian, but it was like something closed around her throat, leaving her coughing. She would have panicked except that the presence was undeniably Castiel, and a moment later she heard a soft voice in her ear saying one word: " _No."_

The vice released from her throat, and she could breathe again. Everyone was staring at her hacking and coughing. Demon-Christian raised an eyebrow. "Need a breath-mint, sweetheart?"

"Go…fuck yourself," she choked out as the coughing subsided.

Dean snorted. "What she said. Now, where's the man?"

They entered Samuel's office in a ragged line. He looked up from his desk, hiding his curiosity and distaste behind a thin smile. "Come right on in." He glanced at Eli, and it was clear that Castiel's memory wipe had worked. Eli wished it had not only been for that one day, because it was obvious that Samuel remembered their other meetings, and was still deeply suspicious about the Alpha shape-shifter incident. "See you brought your friend back. Hope she doesn't die this time. Or appear in the middle of the room with no explanation."

"I'm not planning to," she said, flashing him a cold smile. He looked taken aback by her new demeanor, at the strength of her stance and the set of her jaw.

"Well look at you," he drawled, eyeing her up and down. "Takin' to hunting like a fish to water. It's like you're a whole new person."

Eli jerked forward as if to retaliate but Dean grabbed her arm. "Don't," he muttered. "Not worth it, believe me." He turned back to Samuel. "We need to ask you a few questions."

Samuel leaned back in his chair. "What's wrong?"

"The day you got back, what happened?" Dean asked aggressively. Samuel sighed.

"We've been over this."

Dean smirked. "Well, recap it for our wingman."

Samuel started, then spun his chair to the side to see Castiel standing calmly in the corner. "This Castiel?" he asked, smoothly covering his shock. "You're scrawnier than I pictured."

Castiel stared him down with a bored look. "This is a vessel. My true form is approximately the size of your Chrysler building."

Eli snerked at that. She would have to tease him about it later. Then she remembered Demon-Christian and her face fell again.

"All right, all right, quit bragging," Dean muttered. "So, you were dead, and..."

"And, pow, I was on Elton ridge," Samuel said, shrugging. "Don't know how. Don't know why. I got nothing to hide, guys."

Dean couldn't help but smile. "Well, you mind if Cas here double-checks?"

Samuel squinted suspiciously. "How?"

"Just hold still," Castiel said, rolling up his sleeve. "And try to think of something…pleasant."

Samuel's eyes widened as Castiel pressed his hand against the hunter's chest, but they clenched shut as the familiar light began to shine and Castiel's arm slid into his soul. He began to scream.

Christian flew into the room to see Samuel stagger out of his chair, gasping for breath. "What the hell?"

"How apt," Eli said bitingly. She had sidled over and was lingering near Castiel's shoulder, and he clenched her wrist for one brief moment, faster than anyone could see. She glared at him.

No one was paying attention to them. "I'm fine, Christian. Just give us a minute," Samuel said, massaging his chest. Christian tried to protest but he waved him away. "Now."

The demon scowled, flickering his gaze between Castiel and Eli, and then left, slamming the door behind him.

"What the hell was that about?" Samuel said, straightening and flexing his fingers as if to make sure they were still there.

Castiel merely looked at Dean and nodded. "His soul is intact."

"What?" Samuel gasped. "Of course I have a –" His jaw snapped shut as he turned to look at his grandsons. "What's going on, Sam?"

Sam shuffled his feet almost apologetically. "Whatever dragged me out...left a piece behind." Samuel groaned, sinking back into his chair and holding his head in his hands. Sam narrowed his eyes. "Did you know?"

Samuel lifted his head. "No, but I... I knew it was something," he admitted, sounding genuinely worried and shocked. "You're a hell of a hunter, Sam, but the truth is, sometimes you scare me." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to absorb the new information. "So, what's the deal here? How do we fix this? How do we get his soul back?"

"We don't know yet, but we have to," Dean said.

Samuel nodded. "Well, I'm here to help, of course. What leads you working?"

Castiel was getting restless as they spoke, continually glancing up toward the sky. Finally he interrupted. "Sam, Dean... I have to get back."

"You're leaving?" Dean snapped. Castiel glared at him, but was too tired to come off as threatening.

"I'm in the middle of a civil war."

"You better tear the attic up, find something to help Sam. No more breaks to get laid, you hear me?"

"Get laid?" Samuel muttered curiously.

Castiel looked at Dean with an angry, brow-furrowed stare. "I am not your dog, Dean. I am doing what I can to help you. That should be enough. I'll be in touch."

Eli had to time her motions perfectly. Right as she caught sight of his inter-dimensional wings unfurling she used a burst of power to latch on to his grace, and they both disappeared.

Samuel let out a _hmm_ noise in the back of his throat, looking pensively at the spot where the two had been standing. "You kids keep strange company. I swear, I saw that girl just the other day and now? I wouldn't have recognized her in the street."

"Yeah, well, Eli's wacky like that," Dean said darkly. "But let's get on to bigger questions. What exactly is your little army out there planning to hunt?"

* * *

Castiel diverted them to a field a few miles away.

"What are you doing?" he asked as they landed, tipping his head at her. She stumbled, trying to overcome a wave of vertigo, and he held her arm until she could stand.

"Hitching a ride," Eli said once her vision had cleared. It was a cool day, and the sky was white with a layer of clouds, the light muddled and flat. "Man it's tough, being a stowaway. Disorienting."

"Eli, I must…"

"Two minutes, Cas. Please," she said, holding his hand in hers. "You know we have to talk."

He hesitated and looked down. "You saw the face of the demon."

"So did you," she said, stepping closer. "Cas, what are you doing, protecting a demon? He's in their cousin, for God's sake."

"Eli, I can't…" Castiel breathed in and looked her right in the eye. "There are things going on that I cannot explain to you, not now, not until you're an angel and fighting by my side. You're too vulnerable now, and if I burden you with this knowledge you will become a target. That can't happen. So please, I'm asking you to trust me."

He gazed at her with pleading eyes, looking incredibly broken. Eli cupped his face in her hand. "Love, what have you gotten yourself into?"

Castiel leaned into her touch as if taking strength from it. "The Other Castiel made some…unfortunate decisions. But I am better than him, stronger. I promise you, this will all make sense soon."

Eli bit her lip, a strand of hair falling into her eyes. He brushed it away, waiting. She finally nodded, looking at him fiercely.

"Okay. But you're explaining this to me later."

"The moment you have a grace," he promised, sounding relieved.

"And Sam?" she asked. "You knew, didn't you? That his soul was missing."

Castiel sighed. Once perhaps he would have stepped away, distanced himself with his guilt, but now it was like she was a lifeline, and he stepped closer, embracing her, her head tucked under his chin. "I had my suspicions. It is my belief now that the Other Castiel raised him from perdition."

"What?" Eli asked, shifting in his arms so that she could look up at him. "But his soul, do you think, I mean…"

"It is extremely difficult to attempt to liberate a person from the cage, especially when Michael and Lucifer don't want to let him go. It is my sincere belief that pieces of Sam were simply…left behind. It was not purposeful."

"Of course it wasn't!" she said, affronted. "No matter what, he was still Castiel too. He wouldn't do something like that."

Castiel kissed the top of her head. "Your faith in me is…refreshing."

Impulsively Eli grabbed his tie and pulled him in for a kiss. "Go," she said. "Fight your war. I'll be here."

He kissed her again. "I love you," he murmured, then vanished from her arms before she could respond.

Eli stared worriedly at the blank space where he had just been. A chill wind blew across the fields of wheat, sending them swaying like the ocean before a storm. "Don't make me worry about you even more than I already do, angel," she muttered, then sighed. "I have to stop talking to myself."

She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the awful, sick feeling of doubt that was winding its way through her stomach and into her heart.

* * *

Eli walked back to the camp. By the time she arrived it was in a frenzy of cleaning and checking weapons, filling darts with dead man's blood, and tactical preparations. She was immediately handed a carton of salt and a box of empty shells, which she busied herself with while Dean and Sam spoke to Samuel in his office.

She tagged along with the group during the Alpha vamp raid. She and Dean barely spoke; they maintained a cool silence punctuated by clipped commands and the occasional snarky comment. Samuel didn't say much to her either, but he watched her, like he was trying to figure out whether to hand her a gun or shoot her.

Eli hated how everyone was so distrusting. It was like every person on the hunt was eyeing the others, trying to figure out the game, to find out where their standing was. It didn't feel like a family hunt; it didn't feel like a family. It felt like a group of sad, angry, tortured people lashing out at each other. If this went on, someone was going to get killed.

Worst of all, now Eli was a part of it, glaring distrustfully at Dean on her right, Sam on her left, and Samuel out in front. She missed the days of family meaning close camaraderie and always having the other's back. This…this sucked.

That night found the three hunters creeping into another of Samuel's locked-down complexes, this one in an abandoned factory. It was old, but sturdy, the empty hallways tinted black in the dim light. From a room twenty feet away the swell and crackle of electricity could be heard, and the murmur of voices.

"Where is it?" Samuel's voice was demanding. "Answer the question. Where is it? How do we find it?"

Eli held her breath, peeking into the room for a split second before retreating back behind the door. The Alpha vampire was chained to a chair in an ancient cage, an IV with dead man's blood sunk into his neck. He was smiling, even as electricity ran through his veins.

"Ouch. Stop. That hurts," he drawled sarcastically without even a hint of discomfort. Samuel shut the battery down.

"This is Club Med compared to what we have planned for you," he hissed through the bars. "I got all the time in the world."

"Well, that makes two of us."

Samuel stood there for a moment longer, obviously debating his choices. Finally he yanked open a side door and slammed it shut behind him, the echoes of his boots growing dimmer with each step. The Alpha laughed.

"Are you three going to hide all night? Come on out." They glanced at each other nervously, then Dean shrugged and they edged into the room, weapons drawn. The Alpha smiled at them lazily. "How can I help you?"

"We got some questions for you, Skippy, since you're going nowhere fast," Dean said in his best _'I'm not scared of shit'_ voice, betrayed by the fact that he was gripping his machete far too tightly.

The Alpha merely chuckled. "Don't be so sure." He let his eyes drift to Eli, regarding her with curiosity, like she was the one in a cage instead of him. After a moment Dean drew his attention back, but Eli still felt a ringing in her ears. He was strong, too strong. The sight of him to her non-human eyes was monstrous, a sick skeletal thing made of bone and blood, completely different from the suave human figure he presented.

Eli blinked, hard, and forced herself back into the moment. The Alpha was smiling at her reaction, like a teacher whose student has just earned a gold star. "I'm happy to tell you whatever you want to know," he said, as if speaking only to her. She said nothing, just watched him, his true form staring back at her like a stain. Dimly she heard someone ask a question, and the Alpha glanced at Dean with a self-satisfied look. "Why? Because soon I'll be ankle-deep in your blood, sucking the marrow from your bones."

Sam approached the cage, and now the Alpha turned its attention on him, sniffing the air cautiously. "So you're really it," Sam said. "The first of your species."

"The very first."

"But if you're the first... who made you?" It was obvious that Sam felt no fear, only a mild curiosity and the desire to kill.

The Alpha somehow managed to shrug elegantly despite his chains. "We all have our mothers. Even me."

Sam frowned. "What does that mean?" The Alpha didn't answer. "And what's with the big surge of vamps lately? I mean, it's like –"

"Like we're going to war."

"Why?" Sam asked, stepping even closer. "What's going on? Why did Samuel bring you here?"

The Alpha seemed to totally forget that Dean was in the room. His eyes flickered from Sam to Eli and back; he sniffed the air and leaned forward curiously.

"What a strange pair you make," he murmured. "The boy is cold; the girl is hot enough to taste. Neither is quite human." He focused on Eli, a smile curling the edge of his lips. "I haven't seen a creature like you for ages," he said softly. "A Nephilim. You burn like the sun. I'm assuming you can see me?" Eli nodded and he grinned. "Remarkable. You know, I've always wondered about your kind. Where they go when they die. Not up or down like the humans. Do they muck about with us monsters, in our in-between place? Or do they and fallen angels have their own Valhalla? It's very curious. Though, I suppose, in the end we are both monsters. Born of man and… something else. At the bare bones of it I'm sure your warrior Father and my Mother are very much alike. Powerful. Tainted."

"I'm not a monster," she insisted in a low voice. The Alpha smirked.

"It's a crude classification, I know. The hierarchy only makes room for angels, humans, and demons. It's so callous to us freaks." He shifted his gaze to Sam. "Like you. You couldn't tell me that you're not a monster. You have no soul. You must feel how empty you are. What is it like to have no soul?" Sam said nothing. The Alpha narrowed his eyes. "Answer my question."

"You first," Sam said evenly. "You're the one in the cage."

The Alpha ignored him. "The thing about souls - if you've got one, of course - is they're predictable. You die, you go up or down. Where do my kind go? Or should I say, our kind?" he said, looking at Eli.

Dean shifted, clearly irritated at the direction the conversation was taking. "All right, enough with the sermon, freak."

Eli glanced at him, feeling a shock of something like betrayal. What the Alpha had said was hitting her harder than it should have. Was she a freak? Despite everything, was she still a monster underneath it all? She stared at Dean's face, cold and closed in the dim light. Would he come for her too, if it came down to humans versus monsters?

"I'm trying to answer the question," the Alpha was saying patiently. "Now, when we 'freaks' die... where do we go? Not Heaven, not hell. So?"

Eli knew the answer. "Purgatory," she said softly. The Alpha looked her in the eye and nodded.

"Purgatory? Purgatory's real?" Dean sputtered, confused.

The Alpha sighed and broke his stare, as if irritated to be drawn away from something far more interesting. "Oh, stupid cattle. Of course! And it is filled with the souls of every hungry thing like me that ever walked this earth. Now, where is it? That is the mystery. And that is what your kindhearted granddaddy is trying to beat out of me."

"Samuel brought you here... to find out where purgatory is?" Sam asked incredulously.

The Alpha sounded genuinely frustrated. "I keep telling him - how would I know such a thing? But he refuses to untie me." He looked at Eli again. "Perhaps next he'll ask you. I can only hope he'll be gentler in his questioning."

"You know exactly where it is," Sam said. "Why does Samuel care about any of this?"

"He doesn't care," the Alpha said in a bored voice. "He does as he is told. Now, I want a moment alone with the Halfling."

"Shove it up your ass," Dean snarled, and Eli was surprised and pleased to hear that he sounded protective, almost like his old self. "We are asking you questions and you're answering, you hear me? Now who is Samuel…"

A gun cocked from behind them. "Evening," Samuel said in a would-be genial voice. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

Eli walked out of the room with them. She felt the Alpha's eyes on her back the whole time.

* * *

The Alpha escaped. Eli wasn't surprised. Neither, for that matter, was Dean.

"I don't know what your big plan was, but playing catch is not on the table," he was growling at Samuel, looking like he was very close to hitting the man. "We take the thing's head off, or it kills us all! You know that."

Samuel hesitated, then nodded. Dean continued. "Okay. We split up. Clear every room. You get a shot, you take it. It's not gonna kill him, but dude will move a lot slower without any kneecaps." He looked hard at Samuel, his eyes almost as cold as Sam's. "And if we make it through this, you, me, and Sam are having one hell of a family meeting."

They split up. Eli found herself trailing Demon-Christian, keeping one wary eye on him as they searched empty rooms. At one point he was nearly fifteen feet in front of her, and a voice said in her ear: _"You see the demon, do you not?"_

Eli spun around, but there was nothing there. The Alpha chuckled in her head. _"I'm old, child, I've learned…tricks. Now I know you can see him. Why are you saying nothing?"_

"I am not your _child_ ," she muttered, low enough that no one else could hear. The Alpha let out a low, pleased _hmmm._

" _Your Father is gone. Don't you think it's time to get a new one?"_

"Shut it," she warned, still searching for him. Down the hallway, Christian paused, saying something briefly to Samuel.

" _If anyone can turn a Nephilim, it's me,"_ the Alpha whispered. _"It shouldn't be too hard. You're monster enough already."_

"Where are you?" she snarled through clenched teeth.

" _Right here._ "

The Alpha appeared behind Demon-Christian, snapping his neck in one easy move. He turned to her with a sparkle in his dead eyes, as if daring her to retaliate.

The moment passed. Sam slammed into him, knocking the vampire to the side, but in an instant their positions were reversed and Sam was pinned to the wall, the Alpha's teeth inches from his neck. "The boy with no soul," he hissed, breathing deeply as if savoring him. "I've got big plans for you. It's amazing how that pesky little soul gets in the way. But not for you. You will be the perfect animal. Yes. You and the Halfling will be … sufficient." He opened his mouth, teeth growing impossibly long.

He had forgotten the demon on the floor. Cover blown, Christian leapt up and pulled the Alpha off of Sam, showing the world his pitch-black eyes. Two more demons appeared, catching the Alpha off-guard, and in an instant they were gone.

Everything was dead silent. Samuel's face was white with shock while Sam wheezed and massaged his neck. Dean gripped his brother's shoulder, making sure he was okay.

Slow clapping sounded from the stairwell as a familiar black-clad figure edged into view. "Well," a self-satisfied voice said in a British accent. "That was dramatic."

Eli nearly jumped back as Sam said: "Crowley?"

 _Crowley_. The one who convinced her to change history, who ruined her life and changed the world. She didn't think she'd ever see him again. And yet here he was, surveying them all with that same twisted smirk on his lips. His eyes landed on her and his waved.

"Hello, all." His gaze lingered on Eli. "What an unexpected treat."

"Bring Christian back now," Samuel demanded. Crowley rolled his eyes.

"I'm sorry?"

"My nephew!" Samuel yelled with genuine heartbreak. "The one you just crammed a demon into!"

For the first time, Dean's attention swung to Eli. Something flickered in his eyes, and she knew that he remembered her ability to see demons.

"I had him possessed ages ago," Crowley said flippantly. "Samuel, really. I keep an eye on my investments." He noticed Dean looking at Eli. "Oh no, don't worry, Dean, he was incognito. Your little dog didn't smell a thing."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait. You know Samuel?" Dean said just as Eli blurted out: "You _know_ me?"

"Not in the biblical sense," Crowley said as if answering both of their questions. "More of a business relationship, I'd say."

Sam's eyes swung back and forth between Samuel and Eli. "This is too much. Someone has to go first."

Samuel wrinkled his brow in confusion. Crowley just smiled. "I'll take the blonde for eight hundred, Alex. Boys, you know that Eli and me, we go way back."

"You remember," she breathed. "How?"

"'Course I remember." He strode down the stairwell and toward her until they were only a few feet apart, looking her up and down. "Eli, Eli, Eli. You don't think I'd go and let history be changed if I didn't have a way to protect myself, do you? It was _my_ idea after all."

"And Az?" she asked.

"Safe in London. Doesn't remember a thing. We broke up," he said as an afterthought. "When I got my new job. Too much conflict of interest. So believe me, there's nothing you can do to drag him into this. Not, of course, if you want to keep the Winchesters' hearts in their chests."

She looked at him with desperation. "What are you doing?" she asked. He stared back coldly.

"Looking out for number one, just as I always have. Really, Eli, did you expect any better from me? Maybe you should have stayed pretty and ignorant in that crappy little sublet in New York, hmm? I think I liked you better that way. Much less of a nuisance."

"What the hell is going on?" Samuel interrupted. "I swear, it's like you're speaking in tongues."

"What's going on with us is not the question, Gramps," Dean said brusquely.

"Yeah," Sam said. "You're the one who's Crowley's bitch."

"It's not what you think," Samuel said anxiously.

Crowley shot him a sharp smile. "It's precisely what you think. That Alpha he's caught me is getting him a gold star."

"Since when do you give a crap about vampires?" Dean asked.

Eli gnawed on her lip, listening to them go back and forth. What the hell was going on? What was Crowley doing here? Why did Cas tell her not to interfere with Crowley's demon? He had said that the Other Castiel had made some _unfortunate decisions._ What did this have to do with Crowley? And what was Castiel doing protecting Crowley's investments?

They were talking about Purgatory. "I'm a developer. Purgatory is vast, underutilized, and hell-adjacent, and I want it."

"What for?" Dean asked. Eli's mouth dropped a little. Did Castiel want Purgatory as well? Was that what this was about? Was that why…

"Best shut your gob," Crowley advised Dean, though his eyes flickered knowingly to Eli as he said it. "Employees don't question management."

Dean nearly growled. "We ain't your employees."

"Of course you are!" Crowley said with exasperation. "Have been for some time now, thanks to Gramps. I don't keep Captain Chrome-Dome around for his wit, do I? Samuel knows things. More than any of you, actually. Walking encyclopedia of the creepy and the crawly. And I knew... You two are so hung up on family-loyalty nonsense, he said jump, you'd get froggy. And Eli, well…she just doesn't have anywhere else to go. Once a bodyguard, always a bodyguard, eh?" He winked at her.

Dean looked momentarily disconcerted by Crowley's evaluation. "Yeah, well, the game's over."

"Yeah, well, afraid not, not if you want to see Sam's soul ever again," Crowley said offhandedly.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "You're bluffing."

Crowley rocked back on his heels, impossibly smug. "Tell them, Samuel."

Samuel sighed, not meeting their eyes. "He pulled us both back, me and Sam."

Sam looked about ready to pull out his gun. "What? You knew?"

Dean was shaking his head, his jaw set. "No, Cas says it takes big-time mojo to pull something like that off, and you're nothing but a punk-ass crossroads demon."

Eli knew that that was wrong. She had sensed something different in the demon from the moment he appeared. Something colder, harder, and more powerful. Now it all made sense.

" _Was_ a punk-ass crossroads demon," Crowley said, smoothing down the lapels of his coat. "Now? King of hell. Believe me, I've got the mojo. I snap my fingers, Sam gets his soul back. Or you can be..." He surveyed Dean with thinly veiled disgust, and pointed at him: "You, and I shove Sam right back in the hole. Can't imagine what it's like in there... and I can imagine _so_ many things. So, we clear? Me Charlie, you angels. Job's simple enough - bring me creatures. Aim high on the food chain, please. Everybody wins. It's been a pleasure." He paused, swinging his pointed finger over to Eli. "Darling. I look forward to working with you again, seeing as you did such a good job the last time." The finger swung over to Samuel. "Oh, and Gramps- no touching the girl. She's off limits, mate. For now. See you soon."

There was silence for a long moment after he disappeared. Finally Gwen swung on Samuel, her face white and betrayed. She hadn't said a single word during the whole proceedings but now she looked like she wanted to scream. "You're letting a demon call the shots?"

Samuel fixed her with a steady look. "Nothing's changed. We hunt. Period. Don't worry about him. I'll take care of it." She just stared at him, looking totally lost. "You trust me or not? Get the van, Gwen."

She stood there for one more moment, clearly debating her options. Then she snapped her mouth shut and spun around, marching out of the room.

Sam waited until the heavy metal door had slammed. "Working with a demon, huh? You're not who I thought you were."

"You don't know anything about me, son. And it seems I'm not the only one who's familiar with this demon," Samuel said, eyeing Eli. Dean waved it away.

"Not the same fucking thing, Gramps. Like you said, you don't know anything about us, _son._ We might be fucked up but we trust each other. We're there for each other, even Robo-Sam and Armageddon Barbie over here. We're all freaks. I know my people. I don't know you, and you ain't family. Not to me. So tell me, what's so important that you're the King of hell's cabana boy, huh? What'd he offer you? Girls? Money? Hair?"

Eli just stared at Dean in awe. Was he… _defending_ her?

"I got my reasons," Samuel said shortly, unmoved by Dean's speech. "You gonna make a move, go ahead."

"Or what?" Dean challenged.

"Or nothing. I'm not gonna do anything to you, Dean. You boys...you may not believe it but you're my family. So the way I see it, you got two choices: Put a bullet in your grandfather or step aside."

Sam pulled out his gun. "He sold us out."

Dean pulled his brother's arm down. "I know. Let it go."

"Why?" Sam snapped.

"Because he's your family," Eli said in a soft voice, and everyone turned to look at her. "And he was misguided. If we killed each other each time one of us worked with a demon, we'd all be dead by now."

Dean didn't respond to her statement, just shot a glare at Samuel and jerked his head to the door. "Get out of here."

Samuel glanced at Eli and gave the tiniest nod, as if in thanks. Then he grabbed his bag and was out the door, leaving the three of them alone in the room.

"So, what now?" Sam asked, his voice echoing against the bare walls.

"We can't work for Crowley," Dean said immediately.

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?"

"I don't think you understand," Dean said without patience. "Demons bone you every time. Eli, back me up."

"They suck hardcore," she said distractedly, crouching and trailing her fingers through the dust. She could sense the trail of Crowley's presence, like sulfur in the back of her throat, and the tang of blood that marked the Alpha vampire. She didn't know what she was looking for, but there was something so very _off_ about this whole situation, like something was watching her that she couldn't see.

"I'm just saying, seems like we got to play ball, at least for the moment," Sam was arguing, his voice still showing no emotion.

"I have done some stupid things in my time, but punching a demon's clock?" Dean snapped.

"Look, just until we find another way."

"Eli, what do you think? Eli? What the hell are you doing?"

Eli blinked and looked up from her spot near the floor. "Oh, yeah. Demons bad. 'Specially Crowley." She stood, wiping her hands on her jeans. "But Sam's right. Best thing to do now is lie low and act like good little soldiers. The closer we are to Crowley, the closer we are to finding out just exactly what his plan is, and how to stop it."

"And then we track Crowley down and give that son of a bitch what's coming to him," Sam said with relish. "You with us, Dean?"

Dean glowered. "Fuck you both," he announced, then marched out of the room. Sam turned to Eli with raised eyebrows.

"What's all that about?"

Eli frowned. "He's got a lot of shit bottled up inside. Sam, can you do me a favor and go wait in the car for a few minutes?"

Sam cocked his head. "Why?"

"Because we have souls and you don't," she snapped irritably. "Just do it, Sam, okay?"

He shrugged. "Okay. I'll do some research on Purgatory."

"You do that."

Eli waited until Sam was out of the building to go looking for Dean. She found him in a huge empty room near the back door, standing with his head against the wall and his eyes closed, his shoulders knotted up.

"Dean?" she asked tentatively. He didn't look at her.

"I'll be out in five. Or just take the fucking car, I'll find my own way back."

Eli huffed and crossed her arms. "Now you're being melodramatic."

Dean swung on her. "I can't do it," he snapped. "Being in the same room with Sam makes my skin crawl. Being in the same room with you makes me want to punch something. And, damn, it's not like I ever trusted him, but it turns out that my own grandfather is working with the _King of hell_ , same demon that screwed us over in the last timeline. Fuck it. I'm done."

"What about all that ' _we're family and we have each other's backs'_ stuff that you said back there?" Eli asked bitterly.

"Shit, Eli, I want to believe all that crap, I really do," he said, shaking his head and leaning against the wall. Eli noticed how tired he looked, the circles under his eyes like bruises, a smudge of something dark like blood across his cheek. "But I can't. Sam is…not Sam, and the only way to fix him is to work with a demon. _That_ demon."

"You have me," she offered tentatively. "Soul and all."

"Yeah, you," he scoffed, his voice growing darker. "Where do I even begin? Ever since I accepted that fucking sigil it's like I don't even know what's reality anymore. I wake up thinking we're still in the other, you know, timeline or whatever, and then I remember that no, we're here and everything sucks balls. You're as big a thorn in my side as ever. But hey, Cas is more human now, that's a good thing, right? No! I had to find out from _Veritas_ that both of you have been playing me! That his all-consuming war isn't really as all-consuming as he wanted me to think!"

"It is!" she insisted.

"He should have been helping me with Sam!" Dean shouted. "If he even had a moment free he should have been searching for a cure! He's the only one we know who could even possibly find a solution to this _nightmare_ , and he's spending his free time getting laid! I swear to God, it's like every single person in my life is conspiring against me!"

"God damn it, Dean, if you could see past your own issues for once in your life you'd—"

"I felt sorry for you!" Dean retorted, cutting her off, and Eli's mouth snapped shut. "I thought that Cas had abandoned you, like he abandoned me. I thought we were in this together, Eli! But you lied to me! Again! I swear, we may all be liars but you really take the cake!"

"You have never been abandoned, Dean," Eli said, trying to remain calm. "By Cas or me. We'll find a cure for Sam, I promise."

"Yeah, well you can take that promise and cram it up your ass," Dean said brokenly. "I know how much your promises are worth."

Eli glowered at him. "You self-centered little brat," she hissed. "You fucking _child_."

Dean took a step toward her, his hands balled into fists. "What did you just say?"

"You know, I finally figured out why you're so bitter about me and Cas," she said icily, anger overriding any attempt to be rational. "You're jealous."

Dean gaped at her. "What?"

"Yeah. I bet in your reality, you were the only friend Cas had. And he was loyal to you. He would do anything for you. You could walk all over him and at the end of the day it was okay, because you were his only friend." She was on a roll now, the words flowing off her tongue like poison. "You showed him humanity, and freedom, and because of that you felt entitled to his help. A perfect arrangement! At the end of the day you get to feel good for condescending to associate with a lonely, nerdy, broken angel, and you get all the benefits of a very powerful being in your debt."

"That is not true!" Dean insisted. "Cas is my friend!"

"And how do you show it? By demanding him to do your dirty work without even a thank you? To call him a dick the moment he arrives, every time?" He tried to turn away but Eli wouldn't let him, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to look in her eyes. "He tries so hard, Dean, and you just walk all over him like you're entitled to. He's an angel, for Christ's sake! When did you start taking that for granted?"

"Shut up!" Dean yelled, pushing her back. "Shut your damn mouth!"

"Suddenly he has someone else who actually cares about him!" Eli continued with relish. "Suddenly his life doesn't revolve around Dean Winchester's problems anymore. I hate to break it to you Dean, but you're not the center of the motherfucking universe, and you are certainly not the center of Castiel's universe!"

Dean lunged, as if unable to control himself, and caught Eli across the jaw with his fist. She stumbled back, hand on her cheek, face turned downward. He stopped in his tracks, suddenly horrified.

"Oh, shit, Eli, I'm sorry, I—"

His words were stopped by a strangled yell and the roundhouse that slammed into his cheekbone, sending him reeling back. Another punch would have broken his nose, but he blocked it just in time and shoved her, hard. She fell, but swung her leg out, taking him with her.

Dean wasn't proud of himself, but the first thing he did was grab her hair. Eli growled, latching on to the arm that was holding her and using it to flip him over her shoulder. He managed to scramble up and slam his elbow into her stomach before she could attack again.

He hated to admit it, but he really found himself getting into the fight. At first he hesitated to hit a girl but then Eli would egg him on and he would swing, nailing her once in the ear and slamming into her shoulder hard enough to hear something pop. She gave just as good as she got, finally getting in that nose hit and using martial arts moves that conflicted with his street-fighting style. Once she even went for the groin, but luckily missed.

It was when blood was seeping down his hairline and into his eyes that Dean finally held up his hands, panting. "Okay! Enough, enough. We're both assholes, I get it."

He groaned and sat down against the wall, pressing a palm to his bloody forehead. After a moment Eli limped over and joined him. She had a black eye and a long cut down her arm from when she had fallen onto splintered wood. Both were breathing heavily and wincing.

"Nice roundhouse," Eli finally said, touching her cheek gingerly. Dean grunted.

"I think you broke my nose. Since when do you come at someone with the heel of your hand?" A pause. "Fuck, is it broken? Does it look broken to you?"

"Stop being such a big baby."

It was as if some great fire had burned out. They sat in silence, the first peaceful silence between them for what seemed like months. Eventually Eli exhaled, a great gust of air like she had been holding her breath for a long time.

"So…want to go get a beer?"

 


	13. A Very Hot Cage

 

 

The night was calm and clear, the stars sharp overhead. The trees blew softly in a breeze, and on the road outside of a dilapidated house two shadowed figures were arguing.

"No, you listen!" Sam yelled at Castiel, his voice showing as much emotion as possible for someone without a soul. He looked huge and dangerous in the darkness, and anyone who wasn't an angel would have been afraid of him. "I don't care what you're dealing with up in Heaven. You owe me."

"You may not care, but believe me –" Castiel started, attempting to stay reasonable. He was so obviously worn out, the bags under his eyes prominent, his hair flattened. Still, his power was strong, stronger than Sam suspected, and he was nearing the end of his patience.

"I'm sorry, do you think we're here to talk this out?" Sam asked sarcastically.

Castiel tried one last time. "Sam, I can't just –"

"If you don't help us, I will hunt you down and kill you," Sam said with utter finality. Castiel almost smiled, stepping into Sam's personal space, his gaze cold.

"Will you, _boy_? How?"

"I don't know yet," Sam said, not backing down. "But I will look until I find out, and I don't sleep."

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Sam turned around and a fist slammed into his mouth, splitting his lip and sending him stumbling backward.

"Jesus Christ, I go on a supply run and you turn into Patrick Bateman?" Eli snapped, rubbing her knuckles. "What the fuck, Sam? Have you just abandoned all pretense at humanity?"

"Pretty much," Sam said, wiping blood from his lip. Eli surged forward, but Castiel held her back.

"Stop."

"But he—"

"He needs help," Castiel said evenly. "Punching him again will do nothing."

"I'll sure as hell feel better," she muttered.

"Help me with this and you won't have to," Sam said. Eli glowered, but relented.

She grabbed his arm before they entered the house, letting Castiel walk in first. "I hate to do threats, Sam," she said softly. "I find them trite and usually unthreatening. But I want to tell you this. Castiel cares about you, more than he should, and you know that. Even without a soul. Now look at me, Sam." He met her eyes in the dark, and she saw nothing inside of them. "You are not Sam. Not really. But no matter what Castiel says, he won't kill you. Tell me, Sam, will I?"

He said nothing, just surveyed her face. She hardened her voice. "Will I, Sam?"

He nodded a little, an unwilling jerk of the head. "Yeah. Yes."

"Yeah." She dropped his arm. "And Sam? I don't die. Keep this conversation in mind next time you decide to threaten the people I care about."

She held the door open for him. He walked past her in silence.

* * *

Eli had really, really hoped that she would never have to meet the infamous Meg the demon. She never imagined that the first time they met they would be working together.

"Well, look at this. The whole gang together," Meg sneered as they gathered outside the house later that night. She batted her eyelashes at Castiel. "Remember me? I sure remember you, Clarence." Her eyes narrowed as Eli stepped out from behind him. The demon looked her up and down. "Who the hell are you?"

Eli smirked. It was fun, being a step ahead of the demon. "You must be Meg."

Meg scowled. "Do I know you?"

"No, you really, really don't," Eli said, hooking her thumbs in the waistband of her pants, right where her gun was. "For simplicity's sake, I'm with Sam and Dean. And you know you need all the help you can get, so no whining, please. It's embarrassing."

Meg just stared at her, from her combat boots, faded cargo pants, dirty t-shirt, splotched freckles, unimpressive stature, and finally to the squashed buns on top of her head. "Nice hair. I think I killed a five-year-old with that same 'do once. She was adorable 'till I ripped her intestines out."

Eli just grinned at her, widely.

"Why are we working with these monstrosities?" Castiel asked, with a flare of righteous anger.

"Keep talking dirty," the demon said. "Makes my meatsuit all dewy."

"You know, I heard that every word out of your mouth is a sexual pun, but this is ridiculous," Eli snapped, stepping slightly in front of Castiel. "We get it, you're a whore. New subject, please."

"All right, simmer down," Dean said loudly. He turned to Meg. "We know where Crowley is."

* * *

Eli picked up a gun, considered it, then put it down and packed another. She loaded salt and extra rounds, a silver knife, and another blade that she strapped around her leg.

On the other side of the room, Dean was throwing weapons haphazardly into a bag, too distracted to focus. He glared at Castiel out of the corner of his eye. "You know, Cas, you could help."

Castiel sighed, shifting on his feet. "I'm ambivalent about what we're attempting."

Dean shrugged, tossing another blade into the bag. "Well, breaking into monster Gitmo is not exactly a two-for-one in the champagne room."

Castiel shook his head. "I'm not sure retrieving Sam's soul is wise."

Both Eli and Dean stopped. "Wait, what? Why?" Dean snapped, whipping on the angel.

Castiel looked at him evenly. "I want him to survive."

Eli and Dean shared a look. "What are you talking about?" Eli asked, coming up behind him. Castiel stepped back to look at both of them.

His voice was very solemn and pained, his brow crinkled up with absolute self-hatred. "Sam's soul has been locked in the cage with Michael and Lucifer for more than a year. And they have nothing to do but take their frustrations out on him." He turned to Dean, his eyes tortured. "You understand? If we try to force that mutilated thing down Sam's gullet, we have no idea what will happen. It could be catastrophic."

"You mean he dies," Dean said flatly.

Castiel shook his head. "I mean, he doesn't. Paralysis. Insanity. Psychic pain so profound that he's locked inside himself for the rest of his life."

"But you're saying you don't know anything for sure," Dean said stubbornly. "I mean, he could be fine."

Castiel stared at him, then finally relented. "He could be, yes."

"Okay then." Dean spun around and started to pack again as if the conversation never happened.

"But I sincerely doubt it."

Dean stopped, put down his gun, and turned back to Castiel, his voice taking on a familiar belligerent tone. "Well, if he's not fine, then you fix him."

Castiel shook his head sadly, his voice low and rough. "Dean, I wouldn't know where to begin."

"Then you figure it out. Cas, come on. I mean, the guy's a frigging replicant. He needs his soul. Look, we get it back. And if there are complications, then we will figure out a way to deal with those, too." He caught Eli's eye. "You gonna argue with me on this, too?"

Eli looked apologetically at Castiel. "Cas, I don't agree with Dean's self-entitled attitude, but I do agree with the general point. Sam isn't human. Not even close. If he slips any more, he'll be something we're hunting. At least this way we'll have a chance to get the old Sam back. And if he dies, well… at least that tortured soul will go to Heaven, instead of being trapped in hell for all eternity."

"You would risk him suffering horrifically?" Castiel asked in a pained tone. She bit her lip.

"It's the best of a really bad situation, Cas. But yeah, it's a risk I think we should be willing to take. Because I don't know about the rest of you, but I can't protect that empty shell much longer. I won't."

The room fell silent. Castiel nodded without speaking, then he turned and walked to the hallway on quiet feet.

Eli jogged after him. "Cas, hold up!" He stilled in his tracks but didn't look at her.

"This could be my fault, Eli," he said in a very quiet voice. "If anything happens to Sam, it'll be on my shoulders."

"I thought we were going after Crowley because he turned out to be the one who raised Sam," Eli said slowly.

Castiel turned but didn't meet her gaze. "He very well may be. I just don't know. But it doesn't stop me from feeling…guilt." He looked at her, finally letting her see his eyes, dark and tortured and somehow guarded, the way they always looked lately. "Do you understand?"

It was Eli who broke the stare. She didn't know what to think anymore, except that Castiel was keeping more from her every time she saw him, and it was starting to make her feel sick. "Yeah, Cas. I understand."

* * *

The night just went downhill from there. It was the worst raid ever, which Eli felt compelled to point out as hellhounds were bearing down on their heels.

"Worst. Raid. Ever," she panted, holding the door shut while Sam poured salt around it and Dean struggled to jam it closed with a piece of wood.

"Shut it, smartass," Dean snapped. "I knew this was a trap."

"What do you want, a cupcake?" Meg snarled.

Sam finished his salt line. "All right, that should keep them out," he said, tossing the can aside.

"Not for long," Dean said as the door rattled with the blows of huge paws. "How many of them are there?"

"Lots," Meg said shortly, and then smiled. "I'll be pulling for you … from Cleveland."

"What?" Dean said in a shocked voice, as if he genuinely hadn't expected the demon to screw them over.

Meg shrugged unapologetically. "I didn't know this was gonna happen. Bright side: Them chewing up my meatsuit ought to buy you a few seconds. Seacrest out."

She opened her mouth, exhaling hard with a force that would usually expel her true form from the body. Nothing happened. It took a great deal of willpower from Eli not to cheer.

"A spell, I think, from Crowley," Castiel said, squinting at Meg, a tiny smile curling the side of his usually stoic mouth. "Within these walls you're locked inside your body."

Dean let out a bark of nasty laughter. "Karma's a bitch, bitch."

Sam pulled out the Knife and flipped it over, and despite Dean's complaints he held the handle to Meg. "You can see them. Take this. Hold them off. It's our best shot."

Meg stared at him in surprise for a moment before shaking her head. "Take it and go. You kill the smarmy dick. I'll hold off the dogs."

"How you gonna do that?" Dean asked, as the door began to buckle inward and the howls from outside grew louder.

Meg smirked, then spun around and pulled a very surprised Castiel into a kiss, her hand sliding inside of his trench coat. Eli saw red.

Castiel shoved the demon from him with enough force to dent the wall, one hand around Meg's neck, the other gripping her wrist, where she was clutching the angel-killing blade she had just attempted to steal. "Touch me again and you'll be lucky if the only part of you I burn are your eyes," he snarled with surprising venom. He glanced at Eli, whose fist was flared with a white fire that Meg was eyeing curiously. "No," he said to her, then dropped Meg and stepped away. "Keep the blade," he said with an indecipherable emotion, staring at the demon from beneath a furrowed brow. "Kill the dogs. That is your job." She opened her mouth as if to make one of her patented sexual puns, but Castiel interrupted before she could speak. "And remember, you don't need your tongue to fight."

Meg smiled, but it wasn't without fear. "Can I say one thing, hotshot?" she asked. Everyone stared at her. She winked as the roar of the hellhounds grew louder. "Run."

They ran like hell, skittering around several corners down into a pitch-black stairwell. Dean was just commenting on the lack of light when everything around them flared with white radiance. Castiel vanished like smoke, while Eli tumbled down the stairs to lie unconscious at Samuel's feet. A moment later, somebody snapped in the shadows, and her body disappeared.

"You sold us out, you son of a bitch!" Dean yelled at Samuel, surging forward as a dim electric light flickered on. "Where the hell is she?"

"Safe," Crowley said, stepping in to view. He grinned at them, all teeth. "For now. Hello, boys. Fancy a chat?"

* * *

After breaking out of prison, fighting for their lives, and rescuing a very naked Meg, it turned out that Crowley couldn't bring Sam's soul back, after all.

"Sam, why do you want the thing back anyway?" Crowley said, sounding surprisingly sincere. "Satan's got one juicy source of entertainment in there. I'd swallow a rag off a bathhouse floor before I took that soul. Unless you want to be a drooling mess."

"Sam, I hate to say it, but he's right," Meg said, shivering.

"Yeah, right. I get it," Sam snapped. "Thanks. He's all yours."

"Whoa, what are you, crazy?" Dean said sharply, gripping the Knife. "He's our only hope. Plus we still don't know where Eli's body is stashed."

"Cas will find her as soon as he gets back," Sam said, sounding bored. Dean glowered.

"What if he can't?"

"He won't," Crowley piped up. He grinned, smoothing the lines of his suit. "Not where I put her. Now, are we back in negotiations?"

"I don't think so," a new voice said. Castiel appeared in the room, holding a canvas bag. He nodded to the corner and Eli appeared, holding on to the wall, her legs shaking.

"Eli, you okay?" Dean asked gruffly. She nodded, pushing sweaty hair from her face.

"Fine. Cas woke me up. Five minutes and I'll be back up to speed." She closed her eyes and latched onto a beam for support, as if the very act of talking had exhausted her.

"Castiel!" Crowley exclaimed, clapping his hands as if pleased. "Haven't seen you all season. You the cavalry now? Hear you're losing out to Raphael. The whole affair makes Vietnam look like a roller derby." Castiel's eye twitched, but he didn't rise to the bait. "Hey, what's in the gift bag?"

Castiel pulled a skull from the bag. "You are."

Crowley shook his head, unflustered. "Not possible."

Eli narrowed her eyes, watching the conversation. Something about it seemed…off. Castiel was too stiff, Crowley too flippant. She couldn't place why, but it bothered her. How did Castiel even find her, if Crowley had hidden her? How did he find the bones?

"You didn't hide your bones as well as you should have," Castiel said. Eli had a hard time believing that. Crowley, not being totally invested in his own survival? The same demon that helped bring down Lucifer, changed history, and became King of hell just to survive?

Crowley clapped mockingly. "Cookie for you."

"Can you restore Sam's soul or not?" Castiel asked, and it hit Eli what seemed wrong. It was like they were reading from a script.

Crowley spread his hands, and they weren't shaking. His shoulders were relaxed. "If I could help out in any other –"

"Answer him!" Dean yelled, and Eli was relieved to hear the real emotion in his voice.

Crowley sighed, tucking his hands into his pockets. "I can't."

Castiel didn't pause. He looked at the bag sitting by his side and it burst into flame. Eli felt her skin grow cold. What the _fuck_ was Castiel doing? Crowley still had use, he had answers.

Crowley screamed as flames rose up from his body, scorching his skin and incinerating his bones. The heat cracked the ceiling, breaking the devil's trap.

Eli caught Castiel's eye. He frowned at her and tipped his head, apparently not liking something that he saw in her face.

"Well, she's smart, I'll give her that," Dean grumbled, and Eli realized that Meg was gone. "I was gonna kill her, too. Come on, let's get out of here."

Eli was already ahead of them. She could sense the demon lingering near the back door, weak and wounded from her torturing session. She ran toward the dim pulse of power, away from Sam and Dean and Castiel.

* * *

Meg was sitting on the back steps, moodily smoking a cigarette with shaking fingers. She ground it out on the pavement and lit another. "I was wondering if you were gonna come snooping around," she said, sounding surprisingly weary and human. She held up the pack without turning around. "Want one?"

Eli stared at it for a second, then shrugged and sat down next to her. The night was cool, the sky covered in a thin layer of clouds, obscuring the stars. She pulled one from the pack and Meg lit it for her. Eli took a pull, coughing a little as she blew smoke into the air. "Fuck. It's been a long time." She coughed again before putting it back to her lips.

"I've resorted to petty theft," Meg said moodily. "They're so damn _expensive."_

"I know, right?" Eli flicked some ash away. "Here's a question: Big tobacco. Yours?"

Meg rolled her eyes. "We've had control of tobacco for decades, sweetheart. You can thank Crowley for that one too. It's made many upper level demons fabulously rich."

"Looks like Dean owes me twenty bucks," Eli said, blowing a smoke ring. Meg glanced at her.

"You're not human." It was a statement, not a question. Eli shrugged.

"Half. Does that count?"

"Not really."

Eli sighed. "Didn't think so."

"Are you banging the angel?" Meg asked, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear. Eli laughed.

"He's surprisingly good."

Meg grinned. "Defiling an angel. So you're not all righteous, then. Did you come out here to kill me? You don't have the Knife."

"No, I don't," she agreed. "I'm surprised you're not a hundred miles away by now."

"Waiting for the Hardy Boys to leave," she said. "I want to check out this place a little more." She looked at Eli, her host's eyes serious. "I want confirmation the bastard's really dead."

"You doubt it?" Eli asked, surprised. Meg shrugged.

"Crowley and I had one thing in common: We want to live. I won't trust that he's dead until I see indisputable evidence with my own eyes."

"Him burning alive wasn't enough evidence?"

Meg scoffed. "Please. I could pull the same trick for you, right here, right now." She winced and put a hand on her ribs. "Well, maybe not right now. Damn. Tell you the truth, I could pull out and find another host in less than a minute, but I like this meatsuit. She's so…dainty. Plus, I already did the blonde thing. It didn't end well."

"Sam and Dean?"

"Sam and Dean," Meg confirmed. "Cute as fuck but damn, I would like to rip their hearts out of their chests."

"At this point, I'd almost agree with you," Eli said, putting out her cigarette on the cement. Meg watched her curiously.

"Is this the part where we fight or something?" she asked, smirking. "It would be fun, I suppose, but I doubt either one of us can get it up at the moment."

"I'm not gonna fight you," Eli agreed, turning to the demon. They were close, closer than Eli had ever been to a demon, sitting huddled in the stairwell, the dark obscuring the monstrous face so that she looked almost normal. "See, here's the thing. I've got a lot of shit going on, and I'm trying to figure it all out, plus, you know, I hate you. You know I'm not human; you know some big shit is going down. And I'm just not in the mood to have demons on my tail, you know?"

"You're asking me to lay low?" Meg asked cautiously.

Eli shook her head. "You misunderstand me," she said, reaching up and placing her hand on Meg's cheek, cradling her face gently. "I just can't let you go."

Meg looked curious, opening her mouth as if to make a comeback. Then Eli's power flared to life and a white light burst under Meg's skin, illuminating her bones, burning the demon out.

The empty body sagged, and tumbled slowly down the stairs. Eli stood. "I hate to be cliché about it," she said to the corpse. "But that was for Ellen and Jo."

She walked back inside. It was time to investigate Crowley's death.

 


	14. Death and Deals

 

 

The interior of the Impala was silent as they pulled into Bobby's house. Eli was in the backseat, scratching absently at the leather with her fingernails and playing over the events of the last few days in her mind.

The search for an answer on Crowley's death had been inconclusive. The truth was, she simply didn't know if he was dead or not. Castiel had been tellingly absent, appearing in the briefest of intervals over the last weeks, always harried and worried and unwilling to talk. When she pressed him he either kissed her into silence, or brushed her concern aside with his eternal line: "When you're an angel, I'll tell you everything."

_When you're an angel._

Now Dean was making deals with Death and Sam was obviously unhappy about it, and probably plotting something. Eli still agreed with Dean—Sam needed his soul back. But she felt like she was at the center of a hurricane that was only building in force, waiting to sweep over all of them, and that very soon everything was going to go to shit.

The car stopped in the junkyard, rocking slightly as the two men got out. Eli waited a beat, then exhaled a long, slow breath and followed them.

Bobby was waiting on the front porch. He gave his usual gruff greeting to Sam and Dean before turning to Eli with a wary look on his face. "This the girl ya'll have been goin' on about?" he asked skeptically. "Can't say I'm much impressed."

Eli mounted the steps, a smile breaking out on her face. "Hey Bobby," she said softly. "You look good."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do I know you?"

"See, Bobby, there's this—" Dean started, but Eli cut him off.

"Bobby, now normally I wouldn't do something like this without permission, and I'm sorry, but you are never going to let anyone carve anything into you, and frankly we just don't have the time to argue," she said, still smiling. "So I'mma hug you now."

Bobby's eyes widened as she pulled him into a bear hug, resting her cheek on his shoulder and closing her eyes. She could feel his heart beating above hers, his hands hanging slack at his sides, unsure of whether to push her away or stab her or just not move and hope that she let go. He smelled like whisky and mothballs and car oil, that combination that was so familiar to her in another life, that smelled like home.

A light flared. One of his sleeves was rolled up and she focused there, feeling the clean white fire burn a symbol into the skin. She exhaled, and let everything she knew shift and move into him, opening a door in his mind wide open. She held him steady, keeping him tethered to the world as his mind shifted and sorted through the new information, categorizing, processing. Then the light died and Bobby staggered back, staring at his hands like he had never seen them before.

"Holy _shit_ ," he breathed, moving his gaze down to the sigil on his arm, then to the three of them standing there. He turned to her. "Eli."

In a moment he had pulled her back into a hug, laughing a laugh that sounded like tears. "The beating I oughta give you," he said in a hoarse voice. "You don't _do_ something like that to a man without telling him first."

"You wouldn't have agreed in a million years, Bobby," she said, her mouth muffled by his shoulder. He let her go and stepped away, still reeling.

"I suppose I wouldn't have. But changing history? Girl, you know better than that! That was a hell of a fuckup you made there."

"That's it?" Dean suddenly said in a loud voice. They turned to him. "That's _it_?" he repeated angrily. "I had to go through weeks of nightmares and searing headaches to remember all this shit, and Bobby gets a _hug_?"

Eli shrugged apologetically. "I wasn't me before. Cas did it as he knew how, I just…worked the kinks out." She turned to Bobby. "You're gonna feel a bit unsteady and confused over the next couple weeks, so I'd advise cutting down on the drinking, old man."

"That's _it_?" Dean snapped again. "What was I, the guinea pig?"

Eli grinned. "Basically. You want a cookie?"

"Enough arguing like a bunch of teenagers," Bobby said, holding his head and pushing open the screen door. "Come on inside. Looks like we've got a lot more to talk about. And you're saying I can't drink? Shit, girl, you're back in my life for two minutes and already causing problems."

* * *

They talked for hours: Sam about his soullessness, Dean about his plan to coax Death into getting Sam's soul back, and Eli about her role in their current reality. She didn't tell them much; nothing about trying to find her grace or Castiel's worrying behavior. They had enough on their plate, she rationalized, without her problems added on to it.

Dean finally left to play Death and Sam skulked off to be alone. Eli and Bobby were left in the house, Bobby stubbornly drinking a beer for his headache, Eli sipping tap water and staring through the cracked window into the night, a book on death and the occult open on her lap.

"You got your 'thinkin' face on," Bobby said, turning the page of his book. "You worried about the boys?"

"I suppose," she said, finishing her water and reaching for a whisky bottle. "Though Sam and Dean have come out of so many bad situations with barely a scratch that I find it hard to muster up sympathy for them."

Bobby coughed. "Yeah, they do have the devil's own luck when it comes to their own asses. Too bad it doesn't extend to those around them. How's your angel doin'?" Eli glanced at him, surprised. He met her gaze evenly. "I hear there's a war going on upstairs. You two still an item?"

Eli unscrewed the bottle and poured an inch into her glass. "Yeah. It's not easy, but … yeah."

Bobby sighed and put his beer down. "What's the problem?" he asked in a semi-bored voice. Eli took a sip and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

"You know, you're dealing with this really well," she said, swirling the liquid in her glass. "Even I was pretty fucked up for a while after remembering."

"I deal with a lot of shit every day," Bobby said placidly. "This is just one more thing on my list. I'm tellin' you, after the apocalypse and soulless Sam and Crowley havin' my soul and the monster in the woodchipper blowin' chunks all over the one person I'd like to ask on a date, this is easy. Plus, you're a sight for sore eyes." He nodded, tugging his hat onto his head. "It's fucked up but in the best way. I think I needed some good memories."

Eli smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Aw, Bobby, you're making me blush."

"Shut up."

"Will do."

There was silence for a moment as Eli resumed staring out the window, sipping her whisky, the smile slipping from her face. She heard the page turn as Bobby thumbed through his book.

"You just gonna sit there and brood?"

Eli sighed. She wanted to talk about how Castiel was worrying her, how she was afraid that his exhaustion and desperation to establish himself in this new reality had driven him to do something stupid. She wanted to say that she was apprehensive about becoming an angel, because she remembered how it felt the last time, that gaping hole of forever that shook her down to her bones, and that she didn't want to risk it without knowing that Castiel was completely by her side. She wanted to say that everything was so wrong and it felt like it was her fault, like she was a dissonant chord in this universe and it was rejecting her. Dean and Sam weren't how she remembered, Castiel was lying to her, Crowley might not be dead, angels were buying souls and raiding Heaven's storeroom. Everything was wrong.

Eli put her drink down, sitting up with sudden inspiration. "Hey listen, Bobby, I gotta go. I just remembered there's something I have to do."

"If you find Sam, tell him to head on back, ya'hear?" Bobby asked, still thumbing through his book. "He should be around family if Dean succeeds in getting his soul shoved back in."

Eli nodded. "Will do. See you soon, Bobby."

She grabbed her coat and headed for the door. It was time to get back what was rightfully hers.

* * *

"Two summonings in one night, I am popular," said a familiar drawling voice.

Eli crossed her arms and stood, the bowl of fire sparking and freshly lit. "Hello, Newman."

"Nephilim," Balthazar said in greeting, positively beaming at her. "However can I help you?"

"You're suspiciously cheery," she commented, looking him up and down. He raised his hands and twirled.

"Like what you see? I am in my prime tonight. Everyone wants a piece of this ass."

She scowled at him. "What does that mean?"

"Not important." He dropped his hands and faced her, suddenly serious. "Why did you call me, Miss Elijah Grant? Is the honeymoon over?"

"This doesn't have to do with Cas."

"Oh?" He tipped his head, curious. "Then what? This isn't about some more drivel with the Winchesters, is it? I'd hate to think that those two are at the center of everyone's universes."

"Nothing to do with them," Eli said evenly. She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes. "You have something of mine."

Balthazar's face lit up. "Oh, so you finally figured it out. Good job, you."

"Graces are kept in angel lock-up, which you raided," she continued doggedly. "You said once that you had confirmation of my existence. You have my grace, don't you, Balthazar."

He rocked back on his heels. "Never said I didn't."

"I want it."

"What are you willing to give for it?"

"It's _mine_."

"Possession is nine-tenths of the law, darling."

"Give it to me, Balthazar," Eli said, gritting her teeth and curling her hands into fists. "Or I'll…"

"You'll what?" he asked, sounding amused. "Fight me? Kick my ass? I'm sorry, love, but you don't have the juice, and unless you have an Archangel in your pocket who can power you up, then you're just screwed." He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking at her thoughtfully. "Why do you want it so badly, anyway? It'll only put you smack in the middle of a war you have no hope of winning, and it'll mean that you can be killed by any angel with a blade. Plus you lose your ace-up-the-sleeve: no more self-sacrificial God-mode if the battle takes a turn for the worse. Not, though, that you'd be able to find an Archangel willing to blow you up," he added as an afterthought.

"Castiel needs me," she said in a steady voice. He pursed his lips, unimpressed.

"What Castiel needs is a smack on the head and a Xanax."

"Will you help me?"

"You don't want it, do you?" Balthazar asked, studying her with a scrutinizing gaze. "That's obvious. And why would you? A grace is a terrible thing to a mortal mind. Does Castiel know you're here?" She didn't answer. He nodded. "Of course not. Because you're not planning on just meekly accepting angel status, are you? There's something else up your sleeve."

Eli wanted to cry. "I don't…know yet," she choked out. "I don't know what I'm going to do with it. I haven't decided."

He was silent for a moment, pondering. "I tell you what," he said finally. "I'll give you the grace, free and clear, if you do one thing for me."

Eli stared at him. He stared back, with a clear, serious gaze, then opened his mouth and said two words. "Destroy it."

She blinked at him, nonplussed. The angel took that as his cue to continue speaking.

"I mean, that's what you're planning to do anyway, right? Castiel's going to figure out that I have it eventually, but no one can do anything with a grace that's not theirs. Not use it, not extinguish it. So you're here to get the jump on our favorite clueless angel. Get it from me and destroy it quietly, and he'll never have to know you even found it. Bam. You never have to angel up, and Castiel is none the wiser." She stared at him stonily. He leaned in, his handsome face earnest. "All right then. Do it."

"What?" she finally asked, wary.

"I'll give you the grace if you promise me to destroy it."

Eli frowned, deeply suspicious. "Why?"

"Because you're the only one who can talk him off of this ledge!" Balthazar suddenly snapped. He stepped away, regaining control, one elegant long-fingered hand running through his tousled blond hair. "Castiel is fighting a losing battle," he continued, frustration evident in his voice. "He knows it too. He can't beat Raphael— _no one_ can beat Raphael. If he keeps this up he's going to die."

"So what—" she started.

"I know my old friend," Balthazar said, fixing her with an unnervingly serious stare. "He is weaker emotionally now than he's ever been. He's exhausted. The Other him might have been able to keep this up but…he is inches away from resigning himself to his failure." The angel sighed, looking worried and downtrodden. "He's waiting on you to become an angel. You're what's keeping him going at this point. He thinks having you with him will do something, inspire him or something, bugger if I know."

"So if I destroy the grace…" she said thoughtfully. Balthazar nodded.

"You can convince him to quit, girlie. If anyone can, it's you. Say the grace is gone, say it's never coming back. Then talk him down. Get him to escape with you to some beach-planet somewhere and live the rest of eternity sipping mojitos from little straws and leave the earth to its fate. You can't change it anyway; neither can he, and you know it. At least save yourselves, won't you? It's so cliché to die in vain."

"Lie?" Eli asked, conflicted. She crossed her arms as if warding off a chill, carefully not looking the angel in the eyes. "Run away? How can I do that to him?"

"You'll be saving his life," Balthazar stressed. "Believe me, the shame of living a long good life is nothing compared to the agony Raphael will put you through until – _if_ —he decides to kill you. He'll make you watch, and then he'll make Castiel watch, over and over, and you'll scream until you have nothing left to scream with." His voice was deathly serious. "I fought with Castiel; he's saved my life more times than I can count. I want to save his. Take him away, Eli. Drag him if you have to. Raphael's going to win; at least Castiel won't have to die for a fool's errand."

Eli was silent for a long moment. Then she sighed, her face a mask of misery. "What do I have to do?"

"Take the grace," Balthazar said, and it was suddenly in the palm of his hand, a small ball of shifting light encased in a crystal. "Go someplace far away, and destroy it. Reject it, and destroy it."

Eli nodded, reaching out her hand as if to pluck the grace from it. Balthazar stopped her by covering her fingers with his, and she looked up at his pale blue eyes, startled by the intensity of his gaze. "Promise me," he said.

"I'll save him," she promised. He stared at her for a long moment, as if trying to discern her intentions, then shrugged and lifted his hand from hers, letting her scoop up the shining crystal.

"Are we done here?" he asked with an attempt at lightheartedness. Eli tucked the crystal in her jacket pocket, feeling it thrum warm and harmonious.

"I suppose we are. Thanks, Balth."

"Just do it, Eli, and we'll be even," Balthazar said, and was gone an instant later, leaving Eli alone in a warehouse with her grace and a promise.

* * *

Castiel knew something was odd when he arrived in the room and candles were lit.

It was nearly four o'clock in the morning. Over at Bobby's, Death was busy pushing Sam's soul back into his body. Thirty-eight miles away, in a nice hotel in Sioux Falls, Eli was lighting candles, her hair loose around her shoulders, in nothing but a short, silky black nightgown.

"What are the candles for?" he asked in way of greeting, causing Eli to jump and turn around. "Are you performing a spell?"

She blew the match out and dropped it by the last candle. "I was going to summon you," she said with satisfaction. "But you have impeccable timing, as usual."

Castiel was still glancing around the room. In the darkness the candles were little points of light, warm and dancing, casting flickering shadows over the walls. "You do not need candles to summon me," he said.

Eli laughed. "They're _romantic_ , you idiot." She approached him on bare feet and pulled him into a kiss, pushing his trench coat off as she did so. He returned it eagerly, slipping his tongue inside of her mouth and running his hands down her body until they rested at her thighs.

"That's, uh… what you're wearing is…very nice," he stuttered when they parted, gazing appreciatively at her. "What's the occasion?"

Eli focused on getting rid of his jacket and unknotting his tie. "You. Now get your shoes off."

He complied, still a little bemused. She sat down on the bed and patted the space next to her. He sat, and she took his hands, running her thumbs along his knuckles.

"What is going—" he started, but she placed small kisses on each of his hands and he fell silent.

"I know things are going badly for you," she started, resting her fingers near his ear; he leaned in to her touch as if drawing strength from it. "I know things are worse than you're letting on." He opened his mouth as if to argue but she shook her head. "Don't speak. I know you're tired, and alone. And you know what? So am I. I'm tired of being here without you, I'm alone even when I'm with the Winchesters, because I can't trust anyone around me and I don't have you. This… what we're doing, it's stupid."

He looked at his quizzically, his eyebrows drawing inward and furrowing his brow. Eli took his hands again.

"We did it wrong the first time around. So I'm going to do it right." She took a deep breath, smiling a little. "Castiel, angel of the Lord, and the most incredible multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, and man, I have ever known. Will you bind yourself to me? Will you be mine, forever?"

He pulled her to him, nuzzling her, clasping her so tightly it was as if he were afraid she was going to disappear from his arms. A deep sigh of relief escaped him. "Of course," he rasped. "I've always been yours. Always."

"And I'm yours," Eli said, blinking back tears. She cradled his head against her, carding her fingers through his hair. He moved in to kiss her, and as he did Eli felt something broken inside of her shift and heal, a strong cord somewhere behind her ribs that was connected to him, as if his heart was beating in her chest. The bond was reforged.

Slowly their kisses changed from sweet to passionate, his hands slipping inside of her silky nightgown, and to Castiel it was like he was discovering her body all over again, and for the first time everything felt right.

It wasn't until an hour later, when they were lying gasping and tangled in each other's embrace, that Eli cleared her throat, kissed his forehead, and said something strange.

"There's one more thing I need to talk to you about, love." He looked at her quizzically, his mind still clouded and relaxed and sated with the knowledge that she was finally his again. She brushed her thumb along his lower lip with a sigh, afraid of what she was going to say. "It's about my grace."

 


	15. By the Grace of God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Despite my love of wackiness, I decided not to include the majority of the meta episode. I had a whole fun idea for it, but in the end decided it didn't fit with the tone of this story at the moment. So you'll have to use your imagination as to what went down in the 'real' world!_

 

 

 

"I found it."

There was stunned silence for a moment. Then Castiel pushed himself up on one elbow. "You found your grace," he said slowly. "How?"

"Balthazar had it," Eli said, sitting up and pulling the covers with her.

"Balthazar," Castiel repeated, shaking his head. "I should have known. He stole it with the other weapons." Eli nodded, biting her lip. He looked at her, noting her nervousness. "Where is it now?"

"It's…" Eli hesitated. Castiel tipped his head.

"What?"

Eli gave him a small, tight-lipped smile and smoothed his tousled hair. "Nothing. It's with me. Here."

He sat up suddenly, his blue eyes wide. "You have it?" he asked, his husky voice filled with hope. Eli took a deep breath, then leaned over the side of the bed and retrieved her jacket.

"Yeah." She dug around in the pocket for a moment before pulling out the small crystal with its multi-colored ball of shifting light.

Castiel looked suddenly worried. "What did Balthazar ask for it?" he asked, taking it in his hand and letting it roll around his palm like a large marble. Eli knotted her hands in the bed sheet.

"He made me promise I'd destroy it."

Castiel looked up in panic. "You—" he started, and she gripped his arm.

"I'm not going to," she swore, and paused, drawing closer to him so that their knees were touching. She realized belatedly that both were still naked but it didn't matter, it felt natural, and right. "The truth is, Cas, that I was going to do it. That's why I went to him in the first place, without you. I wanted to get it before you did. I didn't know why, I didn't know what I was going to do with it once I had it, but I wanted it."

She hesitated, and Castiel took her hand, urging her on. "He said that if you keep fighting you're going to die," she said in a choked voice, tucking unruly hair behind her ears. "He said that if I destroyed it, if I couldn't angel up, I could convince you to abandon this whole fight. That we could run away and be happy. And all I had to do was get rid of my grace."

"Why didn't you?" Castiel's voice was very soft, and pensive, like he was thinking over the option himself. There was something unspoken in his manner, the curve of his shoulders, and Eli knew he was remembering all of the times that she had run off and lied to him.

She reached out and pulled him closer, until their foreheads were nearly touching. "Because I made a promise to myself," she whispered, tears welling her eyes. "No more lies. No more running off to try and fix things on my own. I broke the world, Cas, and I did it because I thought I was the answer. I was selfish, and I ruined everything." Her face was wet now, her voice clogged and thick, water dripping from her chin onto his thighs and the cotton sheets. "I could have taken that grace and smashed it. God knows I wanted to take the easy way out. But I won't lie to you, Cas, not ever again. I've learned my lesson. We talk this out, we make a decision. _Together_. I can't lose you again because of my stupidity. I won't."

He was silent for a long time. Then he said, very quietly: "I had worried that you were beginning to doubt me."

"I'm worried about you," she admitted. "I know that you're not telling me a lot of things. I worry about what you're doing and why you're doing it. But I trust you. Just let me in, please. You said you would tell me—"

"When you are an angel, yes," he said, still cradling the grace in his hand. "I can tell you in five minutes, if you like. I want to tell you. I need…help, Eli. I do need help. I—I'm scaring myself."

"I know," she whispered.

"But I cannot run," he said in a stronger voice, looking at her fiercely. "I can't leave this battle, this world to Raphael."

"I know that too," she said, smiling slightly and rubbing her eyes. "Me neither. That's what Balthazar didn't understand. We're both too stupid to leave."

He pulled her in and kissed her, hard. "What would I do without you?" he asked, almost despairingly. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Go mad."

She felt, rather than heard, his slight exhalation, an acknowledgement of what she said. Then he shifted in her arms and she knew that his focus was back on the grace cupped in his palm. "What are we going to do?"

"Doesn't matter," she said, leaning back and pushing hair from her face. "Whatever it is, we'll do it together."

"What is the right choice?" he asked, staring at the glowing crystal, as if it could give him the answers he needed. Eli bit her lip, surveying him in the guttering candlelight. The blankets pooled around his waist, leaving his upper body and one leg uncovered, but he was so at ease with nudity that it didn't matter; in fact, he had confided in her once that he found clothes a strange thing, an extra unnecessary layer of skin for the sheer sake of vanity. She smiled a little, thinking of this.

Here in the dark he looked tired but hopeful, shadows under his eyes like bruises, his hair a mess of cowlicks, rough stubble dotting his jawline. His mouth was partly open and his breathing was steady, in and out; outside of that small movement he was perfectly still.

He looked back up at her and for an instant Eli saw herself as he did: long tangled strands of blonde hair trailing down her back, how her freckles somehow stood out even in candlelight, not just the ones on her nose but the constellations across her shoulders and bare chest. Her green eyes dimmed to near-black, her cheeks flushed and warm and smooth. She realized, almost with surprise, that he found her beautiful. It made her want to kiss him again, kiss the exhaustion away from his eyes and the furrow from his brow.

Instead, she said: "Do you think we can win?"

Something flickered in Castiel's eyes. "No."

"So what happens now?" she asked, lacing her fingers in his. "Do we fight? Run away? Should I stay like this? Find a way to get powered up? Or become an angel and fight with you, but risk getting killed?"

As an answer he kissed her, and Eli knew, in her heart, what she had to do.

Light filled the hotel room, spilling out of the windows and shattering mirrors; radiance obscured them both, blinding in its brightness, burning away any trace of tears.

* * *

It took only five weeks for all of their good intentions to go to hell.

* * *

 

**_Five weeks later…_ **

 

Dean and Sam buckled over, groaning in pain. It had been a long, long couple of days: Thrown into an alternate universe where they were nothing but actors, quitting their 'show', sucked back into their own universe through a window, and now crumpling in front of Raphael, some massive hand squeezing their insides.

Raphael picked the key off of the ground, her fingers curling around it, her face triumphant.

"And that will open you a locker at the Albany bus station," Balthazar's voice rang out, and the vice released from around the Winchesters' lungs. They staggered and straightened, gasping for air, just in time to hear Balthazar's smug explanation. "You see, I needed a modest decoy to make it more convincing."

Dean's eyes narrowed. _The fuck?_

"Give me the weapons," Raphael snarled.

Balthazar smirked. "Sorry, darling. They're gone."

"What?"

Even Dean could feel the power emanating from Raphael's body. He glanced at Sam and they simultaneously took a step back, bracing for the angelic shockwave.

"I said, too bloody late. You see, they were so well-hidden that I needed time to find them. So I volunteered these two marmosets for a game of fetch with Virgil." He glanced at Sam and Dean with a wide smile. "You two were such an adequate stick. Thank you, boys."

Dean had never wanted to punch anyone more in his life.

"You've made your last mistake," Raphael said with finality, drawing herself up.

Balthazar waggled his eyebrows. "Oh, I've got a few more up my sleeve." He nodded pointedly behind the Archangel, and Sam and Dean had to throw their arms up to protect their eyes from the blinding flash of light.

"Step away from him, Raphael," Castiel said, his voice somehow magnified, echoing throughout the parking lot. "I have the weapons now. Their power is with me." Lightning flashed, and for a split second his wings were visible, massive shadows cast upon the brick wall behind him.

Raphael's face curled into a sneer. "Castiel." She took a step forward. "Do you truly think that you can beat me? Alone? Even with the weapons, you're no match for me."

"Who says he's alone?"

Sam and Dean blinked, and another figure was standing by Castiel. Sam frowned, scanning the newcomer: smug, with yellow hair twisted into two knots on top of her head and an old bomber jacket over jeans and combat boots. She didn't look like much of anything.

"Dean, who is that?" he whispered, remembering their time in the TV-show reality. "Hey, isn't that the crazy girl who –"

Dean elbowed him and coughed into his hand, too stunned and taken aback to reply.

"Who are you?" Raphael snapped, looking disconcerted.

She beamed. "An angel."

Raphael sniffed the air, as if discerning power, then shook her head. "You cannot be an angel. I know all of my brethren."

"I'm new," she said. "The angel Elijah. Nice ring to it." She grinned wickedly, shot the Winchesters a wink, and closed her eyes. Lightning flashed, and huge shadow wings arched behind her. Dean and Sam felt a surge of power almost equal to Castiel's, that sense of something great lurking behind her innocent exterior. "Now fuck off."

"You heard her," Castiel said, and amazingly he was almost smiling, the trace of it curling the edge of his usually stoic mouth, the look of someone who knows they have the upper hand. "If you don't want to die tonight, back off."

Raphael looked between them, clearly upset and confused. Then she jerked her shoulders and vanished.

Balthazar clapped lazily. "Good show. I was shocked and awed. Eli…" He shrugged, looking resigned. "I guess I should say welcome to the family. Cas…now that you have your sword, try not to die by it."

The brothers blinked, and he was gone. They blinked again, and all four of them stood in Bobby's house, rain streaming through the shattered window.

"Cas, what the hell?" Sam sputtered. "Wait, wait, you were in on this, using us a diversion?"

Castiel sighed and glanced at Eli, looking downtrodden. "It was Balthazar's plan." He paused. "I would have done the same thing."

"That's not comforting, Cas," Dean snapped, and turned to Eli. "And what, were you in on this too? And what the hell is up with you? You disappear the moment Sam gets his soul back, and I only find out what happened to you when I wake up with a letter taped to my _face_! Not cool, Eli!"

"I'm sorry, Dean," Eli said softly. "Once I became an angel I was embroiled in…and I wasn't able to…" She trailed off, looking shamefaced.

"We needed you here!" Dean yelled. "Sam was just re-souled—he doesn't even remember you—"

"Yeah, uh, sorry, but who are you again?" Sam asked, looking confused. Eli smiled and stepped forward, opening her mouth. Dean swung on her.

"No hugs! Don't you dare use any mojo on him, Death said any memories could bring that wall crashing down." He turned to Sam. "She's a pain in the ass and don't worry yourself about it. Scratching at the wall is not a good thing, dude."

"That is part of the reason I encouraged Eli not to return until Sam was more…stable," Castiel interrupted. "I didn't know how his wall would react to her presence and the memories it would jar."

"Not good enough," Dean said gruffly. "Where were you when we faced down dragons? When the Mother of All was released? When we were nearly eaten by a spider monster? When Gwen and our Grandfather and Rufus _died_? We could have used some fucking backup, Eli!"

"I'm an angel now, Dean," she said hotly. "I was fighting a war. If I could have…"

"Yeah fucking right," Dean said, shoving past her to look for a drink, and she did something very strange.

She stumbled.

Dean had only ever seen an angel stumble when they were gravely hurt. She nearly tripped over her own feet and Dean instinctively grabbed her arm, steadying her.

"What the hell is up with you?" he asked again, gruffly, but in reality he was worried. He realized, looking at her close up, that despite her big display of power she looked…well, like crap. Skin sallow, bags under her eyes. Her arm under his hand was shaking ever so slightly. Castiel might look tired but she was more than that. She was drained.

Castiel pulled him away before he could say anything else. "When will I be able to make you understand?" he said in an exasperated voice. "If I lose against Raphael, we all lose. Everything."

"Yeah, Cas. We know the stakes. That's about all you've told us!" Dean snapped. "And don't change the subject. What's up with the littlest angel _stumbling_ when I tap her on the shoulder?"

"I'm sorry about all this," Castiel said shortly. "I'll explain when I can." He gripped Eli's wrist and they vanished.

"Fuckin' angels," Dean grumbled. He glanced up. Sam was staring at the space where they had been standing with a blank look on his face. "I said don't worry about it, Sammy."

"But Dean, that girl, that _angel_ …"

"She's not as angelic as she looks," he said, scoffing. "Broke the world once or twice. Puts her hair up like a five-year-old. Acts like a cross between Sailor Moon and Bobby. Fuckin' weird, man. Just drop it, okay?"

"Do we care about her?" Sam asked contemplatively, tipping his head, his face scrunched up with the confusion of forgotten memories.

Dean hung his head. "Yeah, Sammy, we do. A lot." He sighed, then rapped on the edge of the broken wall, his fist hitting wet wood. "Looks like we're really back home."

Sam knocked on a wall and laughed a little. "Looks like."

"Real, moldy, termite-eaten home sweet home," Dean said, shaking his head. "Chock full of crap that wants to skin you. Oh, and we're broke again."

Sam shrugged, still feeling the tickle of a forgotten past scratch at his brain. He tried to ignore it. "Yeah. But, hey...at least we're talking."

* * *

On the other side of the world, Castiel and Crowley met alone. "I don't know if we're doing the right thing," Castiel said, the guilt evident in his voice.

"I don't particularly think you have a choice, angel," Crowley said airily. "Not if you want to beat Raphael at his own game."

"But she's—"

"Fine," Crowley said in harsher tones. "It's fine. Everything's fine. Just stay on track. You want to win, don't you? And no one's really getting hurt."

Castiel ran a hand through his hair. "I just…I feel like this is going too far. Even further than the Other Castiel would have gone. It's crossing a line."

Crowley laughed. "Angel, you passed right and wrong so long ago that you can't even see them anymore. Just do, don't think, okay? You're good at that." He turned away, muttering to himself. "Bloody do-gooders."

He waved his hand and was gone, leaving Castiel alone on a windswept hill in southern China.

 


	16. Interludes: Fate and Cowboys

 

 

Time froze.

Sam and Dean were locked into position, staring perpetually at the huge air conditioner that hung over them in thin air. Castiel sighed, staring at the two of them, surprise etched on their unmoving faces. This, as Eli would say, was going to suck.

"Castiel!"

He turned to see Atropos striding toward him in a righteous fury, her slim black glasses pushed up her nose, her neatly parted hair and sweater-vest belying the true power that lurked under the surface. He approached her, calmly.

"Atropos. You look well." It was true. Very often she appeared in the figure of a crone; it was her younger sisters Clotho and Lachesis that took the forms of a child and a young woman.

She scowled at him. "I look like stomped-over crap, because of you."

Castiel held his hands out, still attempting to be the composed one. He hated fighting, especially infighting such as this, where neither was evil, just on opposing ideological sides. "All right, let's talk about this."

"Talk?" Atropos spat. "About what? Maybe about how you and those two circus clowns destroyed my work. You ruined my life. And then, not only did the half-breed turn back time, but you started going around giving people their memories and bringing her back into the fray when she's _not supposed to be here_. Every single move that you make is just ripping at the threads of Fate and I'm the one trailing behind you trying to clean up the mess!"

"Let's not get emotional," Castiel said evenly.

"Not get emotional?" she yelped, her voice going up a notch. "I had a job. God gave me a job. We all had a script. I worked hard. I was really, really good at what I did. Until the day of the big prize fight. And then what happens? You throw out the book! Time gets rewound, rebooting the _universe_ , and when it's done and the dust settles, what do I find out? You _still_ ruined Heaven's plans!" She stomped her foot, looking uncommonly petty for an ancient being of immeasurable power.

Castiel resisted the urge to rub his temples. He was too tired for this. "Well, I'm sorry. But freedom is more preferable."

"Freedom? This is chaos! How is it better?" She took a step forward, shaking with anger and betrayal. "You know, I even went to Heaven just to ask what to do next, and you know what? No one would even talk to me."

"There are more pressing matters at hand," Castiel said, starting to lose his cool.

Atropos' voice took on a whining quality. "But I don't know what happens next. I need to know. It's what I do."

Castiel looked at her, his gaze hard. "I'm sorry. But your services are no longer required."

That really set her off; he could see a muscle tick near her left eye, her mouth thinned into a tight line; beneath her human exterior, her true form, an interdimensional many-edged shape, spread and contracted, roiling with fury and uncertainty.

"You know what?" she hissed, and Castiel snapped his vision back so that he could see the human image again. "I've kept my mouth shut. I could have complained, I could have raised a fuss, but I didn't. But you know what the last straw is? Un-sinking the Titanic. You changed the future. You cannot change the past. Your little pet already did that once and look how it turned out! Do you know the long hours I've had to put in, trying to right what she did? It's not even possible! And you did it again!"

"It's Balthazar. He's erratic –" Castiel said quickly, but Atropos shot him a bored look.

"Bullshit. This isn't about some stupid movie. He's under your orders. I bet you got the idea from your previous time-changing fiasco. You sent him back to save that ship."

"No, I didn't," Castiel insisted. "Why would I?"

Atropos put her hands on her hips and sneered. "Oh, maybe because you're in the middle of a war and you're desperate?" He stared blankly at her and she scoffed. "Come on. This is about the souls."

Castiel's face hardened as he tried to shut down his emotions. Despite everything, he still wasn't a very good liar. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"That angel went and created fifty _thousand_ new souls for your war machine." She paused, surveying him. "You can't cheat Fate, Castiel. I know everything. Like what you're doing to that Abomination you angel-ed up. It makes me sick. Maybe that should have been your first clue that you were going too far."

Something clenched around Castiel's insides, making it hard for him to breathe. He turned away from her. "You're confused. You don't know—"

"No," she snapped, stopping him. "You can't just mint money, Castiel, and you can't create your own little nuclear reactor and expect that it's not going to blow up in your face! It's wrong, it's dangerous, and I won't let you."

Castiel faced her again. "You don't have a choice."

"Maybe I don't," she said, crossing her arms huffily. "So here's a choice for you. If you don't go back and sink that boat, I'm gonna kill your two favorite pets."

Castiel glanced at them, still frozen in place with an air conditioner over their heads, and clenched his jaw. "I won't let you."

Atropos smirked. "Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do?"

Castiel took a step closer to her, his voice dropping impossibly low. He hated this situation; he had killed so much lately, he felt like his hands were stained with blood. "Do you really want to test me?"

Atropos hesitated, then backed off. "Okay. Fine. But think about this - I've got two sisters out there. They're bigger, in every sense of the word. Kill me - Sam and Dean are target one. For simple vengeance. You're not fighting a war or anything, right? You can watch them every millisecond of every day. Because maybe you've heard - Fate strikes when you least expect it."

Castiel risked another glance at the brothers and sighed. They were his weak point. Despite everything, he couldn't let them die.

He worried it might be a weakness that would get him killed, in the end.

* * *

"Time travel?" Bobby asked incredulously. "That's a reasonable plan?"

It was two weeks later. Dean, Sam, and Bobby were sitting in one of Samuel's hidden rooms, discussing Phoenixes and Eve and the end of the world – the usual. Dean was nearly bubbling over with excitement at the idea of going back to the Wild West to meet Samuel Colt and be a real cowboy.

"We got a guy who can swing it," he said, pacing eagerly as Bobby and Sam watched with amusement and interest. Dean closed his eyes, gearing up to pray. "Castiel. The, uh, fate of the world is in the balance. So, come on down here." He paused. "Come on, Cas, ' _I Dream of Jeannie'_ your ass down here pronto. Please."

There was a moment of silence as everyone held their breath. Wings rustled behind them; Dean spun around, his jaw dropping at the sight of the pretty, tired-looking woman in a smart suit. "Jeannie?"

The angel gave him a wry look. "Rachel." She folded her hands in front of her primly. "I understand you need some assistance? How can I help you?"

The three hunters glanced at each other. Dean rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well, uh, we kind of need to talk to the Big Kahuna," he stuttered, halfway between confused and angry.

"I'm here on Castiel's behalf," Rachel said smoothly.

Sam stood up. "Where is he?"

Rachel looked irritated. "Busy."

"Busy?" Dean asked, incredulous.

Rachel frowned at his tone of voice. "Yes."

"Well, what about Eli?" Dean asked. "She 'busy' too?"

"The Lady is unavailable," Rachel said stiffly. Dean raised his eyebrows.

" _The Lady_? You're telling me that neither of them can get their asses down here when we've got a line on the Mother of freaking everything? It's a pretty big deal, so if you could—"

"I'm sure your issue's very important," Rachel interjected, visibly irritated. "But Castiel is currently commanding an army, so –"

"Fine, so give us Eli!" Dean snapped again, his voice growing louder.

"The Lady is indisposed—"

"And we get stuck with Miss Moneypenny." Dean threw up his hands. "Fucking great. Are you kidding me?"

"You need to learn your place," Rachel said coldly, narrowing her eyes.

Dean reacted aggressively. "Look, I don't know who you think you are –"

"I'm their friend," she snapped.

Sam moved around the table so that he was standing by Dean. "What, you think we're not?"

Rachel shot him a look that was pure condescension. "I think you call them when you need something—especially Castiel. We're fighting a war."

"We get that," Sam said soothingly, holding up his hands.

Rachel scoffed, flipping her dark blonde hair over her shoulder. "Clearly you don't, or you wouldn't call every time you stub your toe, you petty, entitled little piece-"

Her rant was broken by the soft sound of wings. "Rachel. That's enough," Castiel rasped as he appeared in the corner of the room. He looked weary, his coat hanging slightly off-kilter, his shoulders slumped.

"I told you I'd take care of this," Rachel hissed.

Castiel shook his head. "It's all right. You can go." She stared at him, about to protest, and his voice hardened. "Go. I'll come when I can."

With one last bitter look, Rachel vanished.

Dean let out a low breath. "Wow. Friend of yours?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes. She's my lieutenant. She's... committed to the cause."

"What's this about 'The Lady'?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, what does that make you, 'The Tramp'?" Dean said, giving him a once-over.

"The angels under my command are rather… taken with Eli," Castiel explained haltingly. "While Raphael's forces have discovered what she is and still consider her an Abomination, my allies are… impressed with her parentage and her decision to become an angel. They consider her a symbol of free will and have given her a moniker." He shrugged as if to say _what can you do_ and glanced at the ceiling, listening to a far-off battle. "Now, what do you need?"

* * *

Castiel knew something was wrong when Rachel summoned him to an empty warehouse during one of his brief moments between battles.

"Castiel, I've been hearing things," she said without preamble, twisting her hands anxiously. "Things I don't want to believe. Just tell me if it's true."

"If what's true?" Castiel asked warily.

Rachel stepped closer. "You know. Your dirty little secret," she breathed, fear and worry and anger all evident in her voice.

Castiel dropped his gaze, almost ashamed. "I have to defeat Raphael."

"Not this way," she insisted.

"Rachel," he said softly, pronouncing her name with care. It meant o _ne with purity._ And she was pure. Rachel had the opposite problem of many of the angels. She was too good. Too loyal.

"We put our faith in you, and...look what you're turning into!" she cried earnestly. "At least tell me the truth, Castiel. What are you doing to The Lady? What is happening to her? I know what I see and it's not natural—"

"I am doing nothing—" he started, but her voice just went up.

"Don't lie to me!"

There was a heavy pause. Then Castiel lowered his voice and rasped: "I don't have a choice."

"Then neither do I." She drew her blade as they circled warily. "We'll have a new leader," she said with resolution. "We'll heal her, and she'll lead us to victory. And she'll forgive me."

At this last sentence she lunged, catching Castiel in the side. He gripped her wrist, preventing her from finishing the blow, and eventually shoved her away.

The pain was immense. Castiel could feel his grace leaking out of the puncture, seeping out with the blood. He nearly fell, but had to immediately move, twisting Rachel's blade back into her, stabbing her in the chest.

She gasped, her eyes widening, the breath wrenched from her lungs. Castiel caught her and gently lowered her to the ground, crouching over her as she struggled not to die.

"When all of this is over I'll bring you back," he promised softly. "I'll fix everything. You'll see."

Rachel mouthed something, arching up in her final throes, and closed her eyes as her grace burst from her in one great explosion.

Castiel stood over her body, his face crumpling. "I'm sorry," he murmured to the corpse, then doubled over in pain.

Something sounded in his head, like a low buzzing vibration, with a distinctly feminine overtone. It was worried. "No," he said, wincing and holding his side. "Don't come down. I'm fine. Rest."

He took a deep breath, and with the last of his energy willed himself to Bobby's.

* * *

When Castiel awoke, he was in Bobby's house, the old hunter hovering over him like a mother hen. He felt inexplicably relieved; for one brief moment, it seemed that someone on earth was truly worried about him. Then it became obvious: Bobby was worried about Sam and Dean in the past. Of course.

"We got less than an hour before you pick up the kids at Frontierland," Bobby said, easing Castiel back onto the couch and pressing water into his hand. Castiel refused it, sagging against the cushions and holding his still-seeping wound.

"I can't," he said, his voice laced with pain. Bobby sat back, eyeing him nervously.

"Come again?"

"This fight... drained me," he explained, coughing. The wound felt like it had glass stuck in it, a sharp pain that continued to radiate outward even though his grace had stopped draining away.

Bobby frowned. "Well then get Eli to do it."

"She can't."

"Any reason why not?"

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut; he did _not_ want to be having this conversation right now. "She's… ill."

" _Ill_?" Bobby asked, aghast. "What the hell do you mean, she's ill? She's an angel now, isn't she? Ya'll don't get _ill_."

"Something is…wrong with her," Castiel said slowly, opening his eyes to see Bobby kneeling by him with worry etched on his face. "Ever since she accepted the grace she's been…weak. I can't explain it. Maybe it's her Nephilim nature working against the grace, or maybe it's some treachery of Raphael's. I don't know."

"Damn," Bobby breathed. "She gonna be okay?"

"She'll be fine," Castiel said evenly. "But she can't come down. Not now. Not for this."

"Another angel?" Bobby suggested. Castiel shook his head. Bobby let out a _hmph_. "Well, there's got to be something that can juice you up. A spell - something."

Castiel rubbed his temples. It seemed that everything was falling apart around him. He didn't want to do this, he didn't want to do any of this, but Sam and Dean needed him and, well, wasn't that how it always was?

"There is one thing that might work, but it's extremely dangerous," he finally admitted. "It's your soul."

"What do you want me to do?" Bobby asked nervously. "Make another deal? Seal it with a kiss?"

"I need you to let me touch it."

If it were Dean he probably would have made a dirty joke right about now. Instead Bobby just frowned, deeply suspicious. "Touch it?"

Castiel cleared his throat, but his voice still came out rough and tired, like old sandpaper. "The human soul - it's pure... energy. If I can siphon some of that off, I might be able to bring Sam and Dean back."

There was more to it, of course, far more that Castiel wouldn't – couldn't—explain. He had to weigh his words carefully, talk cyclically, evasively, so that Bobby didn't realize that it wasn't just one soul that was the key. Souls were the key to everything. All souls. Every being that had one, and he was trying to tap into a vast network of them. If Bobby knew how this one action was interconnected to the larger plan, if he had any idea what Castiel was doing behind their backs, he would probably kill him. Sam and Dean surely would.

Castiel attempted to ignore this, but the thought persisted. They were his weak point. They would turn on him if they knew. And yet, despite everything, he couldn't let them die.

He worried it might be a weakness that would get him killed, in the end.

 


	17. Oh, Mama!

 

 

"I'm looking," Bobby said crossly, an open book in front of him. "But I'm thinking maybe it's time you made a call."

Dean and Sam were at Bobby's house, where they had been ever since the Phoenix escapade. They were knee-deep in books, literally, papers floating around, notebooks and file folders and thick tomes jostling for space on the carpet, the desk long since overflowing. All of it was with the goal to find Eve, but so far every lead had fallen through.

Dean huffed as Sam and Bobby looked at him expectantly. "Why has it always got to be me that makes the call, huh?" he whined with more than a little petulance. "It's not like Cas lives in my ass. The dude's busy." He twitched at the feeling of someone behind him, then leapt to the side, surveying Castiel with surprise and annoyance. "Cas, get out of my ass!"

Castiel squinted and tipped his head. "I was never in your –" He trailed off at Dean's glare, then cleared his throat and started again. "Have you made any progress in locating Eve?"

"We were gonna ask you about that," Bobby said, standing and stretching, his book falling to the floor with a thump.

Castiel shook his head. "No, I've looked, but she's hidden from me. She's hidden from all angels."

"Awesome," Dean said listlessly. "Well look, this is pretty important shit here, right? Shouldn't we have all hands on deck?" Castiel looked at him blankly. Dean tried again. "I'm talking about Eli. Two angels are better than one."

Castiel frowned, a slight tightening of the lips that spoke volumes. "That is not a good –"

The soft sound of wings interrupted him. "What are you talking about, Cas, that's a great idea!" said a chipper voice. They turned; Eli was sitting in Bobby's vacated chair, beaming. She was dressed like a hunter, in old jeans and combat boots, hair in a messy ponytail, a jacket over her t-shirt, the thin line of a necklace visible around her collarbone. "You couldn't keep me away from this hunt if you tried."

Bobby surveyed her. At Castiel's request he hadn't told Sam and Dean what the angel had told him about Eli. She looked fine, he supposed grudgingly, maybe a little pale, the circles under her eyes darker than usual. Her eyes themselves were rather dull, and redder, as was the soft skin around her nose, her lips cracked; she looked, in all honesty, like someone who was getting over a cold.

"Eli I really don't think—" Castiel was saying, but she cut him off.

"I'm fine," she said airily. "I'm fine!" she repeated to Sam and Dean, who were staring at her as well, noting the same things that Bobby was. "I'm just worn out from all of that war stuff. I need a break." She clapped her hands together, looking pleased. "Now who's ready to kill a monster mama!"

* * *

When they first arrived at the town Lenore had described, everything seemed idyllic. Calm and peaceful, without the dead bodies and panic that Eli had been expecting. Nothing seemed weird, until the moment that Castiel attempted to fly.

"Cas, we can still see you," Dean said with a little smile.

Castiel frowned and glanced at Eli. "Yeah, I'm still here," he murmured.

Eli closed her eyes, waiting for her wings to open, but it felt like they were locked down, and every moment that she struggled the chains only tightened.

"Well now it just looks like you're pooping," Dean said, rolling his eyes.

"Something's wrong," Castiel said shortly.

Eli nodded. "Same here. It's like there's something stifling me. I can't do…anything."

"You're stuck?" Dean asked incredulously.

"I'm blocked," Castiel explained in a low, worried voice. "I'm powerless."

"You're joking?" Dean asked. Castiel shook his head. Dean's eyes slid over to Eli. "You too?"

"What did I just say, Dean?" she asked grumpily. "Something is tamping down my powers."

"I assume it's Eve," Castiel supplemented.

Dean groaned. "So wait, Mom's making you limp?"

"Ew, Dean," Eli snapped. "Really?"

"Figuratively, yes," Castiel said, ignoring her.

"How?" Dean looked more pissed than worried, like it was their personal fault that this was happening. Eli found herself wanting to kick him under the table.

"I don't know, but she is," Castiel said.

Dean's belligerence flared up. "Well, that's great, because without your power, you're basically just a baby in a trench coat, and Eli looks like a stiff breeze is gonna knock her over. Regular power duo we've got here."

Castiel glared at him for a moment, then straightened, opened his mouth, and growled: "Fuck you."

Dean's eyes widened. "What did you just say?"

Castiel faltered and turned to Eli. "I used it correctly?"

"You're _teaching_ him to curse?" Dean asked, shocked. "Damn, Eli, isn't it enough that you're screwing him?"

Eli leaned across the table. "Fuck you," she snapped, then sat back up and nudged Castiel. "That's how you do it."

"So I had it right," he clarified. She laughed.

"Yeah, when Dean is being a huge dickhead, feel free to tell him to fuck off."

"Hey!" Dean exclaimed.

Eli surveyed him with a bored look. "Damnit, Dean, someone has to say something. You're being such an asshole it's hard to even work with you."

"Not that you'd know, since you won't even come down half the—" Dean started, but Bobby interrupted.

"Enough! What are you, children? Jesus _Christ_. Might I remind you we're chasing the _Mother of All_ here? Can we get back to work?" They all looked shamefaced. Bobby nodded. "Now, I got something here, maybe. Had to go federal to get it. Call went out from the local office to the CDC last night. A Doctor Silver called in an illness he couldn't identify. Patient's a 25-year-old African-American, name of Ed Bright." He waved the iPad at them, Ed's driver's license staring out of it.

"That's not much to go on," Dean said grumpily, pushing at his food. Bobby rolled his eyes.

"Well it's our only lead, so –"

"So beggars can't be choosers, right? I get it." He pushed his chair back and stood, throwing money on the table. The rest of them stood too; Eli felt a wave of vertigo wash over her and she stiffened so that no one would notice it.

Castiel gripped her arm. "Are you all right?" he asked in a low voice as the hunters began to move out. She nodded.

"Fine. Just dizzy. Let's go."

"I'm not sure that you should be—"

"Where else am I gonna go?" she asked, tugging him along behind her as they walked out the door. "We're trapped, remember? This is gonna be a fun day."

* * *

It was worse than any of them imagined.

What looked like a virus was sweeping through the town, turning the civilians into monster hybrids Dean coined "Jefferson Starships." Even the sheriff was turned, leaving all of them with the distinct impression that nowhere was safe.

It was nighttime, and they were holed up in the police station. Eli had stepped out of the room to conceal a fit of coughing that left her lungs burning and her whole body shaking. She took a deep breath and a swig of water from a nearby cooler. "Get it together, Grant," she muttered. "You're an angel, for fuck's sake."

The back of her eyes burned. She felt lightheaded, and the inside of her mouth tasted like old cotton. And it was only getting worse.

Raised voices distracted her. "We need your help here," she could hear Castiel saying urgently.

"Hold your water. We'll be back in a few," Dean said in the cranky, patronizing tone he had taken to using whenever he was speaking to Castiel.

"Dean. Millions of lives are at stake here, not just two. Stay focused," Castiel said. Eli stepped into the room, still clutching her paper cup of water.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Are you kidding?"

"There's a greater purpose here," Castiel insisted.

"You know what, I'm getting a little sick and tired of the greater purposes, okay? I think what I'd like to do now is save a couple of kids. If you don't mind," Dean snapped.

Eli rubbed her eyes wearily. "And what happens if Eve comes for us while you're gone?" she asked. "Or if she decides to skip town? Or sets a whole bunch of Starships on us while we're trapped here? Or a million other bad scenarios?" He didn't answer. She stared at him, hard. "Dean, what is going on with you lately? When did you become so stubborn and self-righteous?"

Dean's jaw spasmed. "We'll catch up with you later." He turned and walked away, ushering the kids along. "Okay guys, let's go. C'mon."

Sam shot her an apologetic look, but followed. When they were gone, Eli groaned, sinking into a chair.

"He's gonna be the death of us, I swear," she muttered, then glanced at Bobby. "What's going on, Bobby?" she asked. "He's never been so carelessly destructive before. So unreasonable. Sam's back, soul intact, no one is going to hell, I'm back, he has you and Cas…why is he systematically alienating everyone?"

"Kid, if I knew the answer to that I'd be a fuckin' mind reader," Bobby said gruffly. "Dean's Dean. He gets like this. Doesn't mean he don't care." Neither of the angels responded. Bobby let out a low breath. "Come on, now. They won't take long."

"You don't know that," Castiel said quietly. He was leaning against the window, staring out of it into the darkness. "They may find more wayward orphans along the way."

"Oh, don't get cute," Bobby said sharply.

Castiel turned from the window; he was half in shadow, his face obscured, the dim light casting sporadic beams on his skin, highlighting a band across his nose and chin. "Right," he said darkly. "I forgot that only Eli is allowed to speak her mind. Pardon me for highlighting their crippling and dangerous empathetic response with 'sarcasm.'" He used finger-quotes to emphasize his point. "We all know it. It was a bad idea - letting them go."

Bobby put on his patient 'father' voice, his bearded face looking almost wise. "Come on. You don't let Sam and Dean Winchester do squat. They do what they gotta. You know that. "

"How long you gonna cover for them, Bobby?" Eli asked wearily from her spot on the chair.

"They're family, like you," Bobby said, addressing both of them, tugging his hat down in the darkness. "We watch out for each other even when the other person's bein' an idiot. And you gotta admit, he's had a rough year." Eli looked down guiltily. Bobby pretended not to see. "Now, if we're done talking about our _feelings_. We want Eve, we need coordinates. So we can stand here bellyaching or we can go poke that pig 'til he squeals. Thoughts?"

* * *

"Dean…" Sam said softly once the children had fallen asleep in the back. Dean groaned, thumping his hands against the steering wheel.

"Damnit, Sammy, don't you start on me too. We had to, okay? _We had to_."

"I'm just saying, they had a point," Sam said evenly.

"What, you're siding with them now?"

"Look, man, it's not us versus them," Sam pointed out reasonably. He drummed his fingers on his knees, staring at his brother's face as the lights flew by them on the highway. "We're all in this together. We all want the same things."

"Jesus, Sam, you think I don't know that?" Dean asked. "'Course we want the same things. I'm just not willing to sacrifice a couple of kids to get it!"

"Dean—"

"Look at them, Sam," Dean said. Sam turned to the backseat, watching the two small boys breathe evenly, the older brother's arm slung protectively around the younger's. "They're _us_ , man. They're us. What if someone had saved us like this, huh? What if someone had been able to take us away from it all, put us someplace safe, let us grow up? These kids have seen bad things but they don't have to die because of it, and they don't have to become hunters. They can be kids. And if I can save even two kids from going through the same hell we've been through, well then, it's worth it. Okay?"

Dean's voice was steady but there was something haunted and hunted in his eyes. He looked at Sam, taking his attention from the road for a brief moment, his brow drawing down and giving his whole shadow-cast face a tortured look. "Okay, Sammy?"

"Yeah, Dean, I get it," Sam said shortly, sitting back in his seat and staring out the window. "Keep your eyes on the road. We're in and out, okay?"

"In and out," Dean agreed, and hit the gas a little harder, the car slipping through the dark night and disappearing down the road.

* * *

Bobby and Eli sat in uneasy silence, listening to the wails coming from the monster in the other room. Bobby flinched.

"Bit out of character if you ask me," he muttered, crossing his arms and slouching deeper in the chair he had commandeered. Eli shot him a look.

"You don't know nearly as much about Cas as you think you do," she said pointedly. "Or about me."

"I'm just sayin' he didn't strike me as the torturing type, that's all."

"War changes you," Eli said, staring down at her lap, one hand restlessly toying with the thin chain tucked into her shirt. "Pushes you. Makes you do things you didn't think you could do." She laughed, but it was humorless. "I seem to remember Dean having a big problem with torturing after he got out of the Pit. Now it's like Sunday in the park for him. Or remember when they used to care about saving hosts, and actually used exorcisms instead of going straight for the Knife? Good times."

"All right, all right, you've made your point," Bobby said bitterly. Another shriek sounded and his frown deepened. "Still. Never thought I'd see the clueless angel torturing. You, maybe."

"Gee, thanks," she said dryly.

Bobby shrugged. "Just seemed more innocent, I guess."

"See, that's my rub," she said, turning to look at him. "He's thousands of years old, and most of those were spent in the trenches. He may have trouble expressing himself but he is far from innocent." She shook her head and took on a sing-song voice. "Oh, Cas doesn't know how to use a computer, Cas doesn't understand jokes, Cas doesn't know what porn is. Jesus." She rolled her eyes. "There are other ways of measuring a man, Bobby."

"Don't get pissy, girl," Bobby warned. "Dean ain't the only one with anger issues. You've been a right bitch lately too."

She laughed at that, and it left her breathless and a little dizzy. "What did you say once, Bobby? Something about how family is supposed to make you miserable?"

Bobby felt himself smiling, just for a second. Then it faded as he noticed her wheezing breath, how her hands were shaking. "You okay, kid?"

"I'll be fine," she said, pulling out her messy bun and reknotting it quickly. "Just a setback, Bobby."

"I know you're…sick," Bobby said gingerly. "Cas told me."

"Well then, did he tell you he's looking for a cure?" she asked in a too-bright voice. "Whatever this is, he'll fix it. Trust him."

Bobby looked at her doubtfully. "What is it you're not telling me?"

Just then, Castiel walked back into the room, ineffectually wiping blood from his stained hands. "Eve's at 25 Buckley Street. You can call Sam and Dean." He glanced up; both were staring at him, Bobby with suspicion, Eli with some unidentifiable emotion. "What?"

* * *

The plan fell apart, as Winchester plans usually did.

Bobby and Castiel were dragged into the diner by several burly Starships. "Well, so much for your plan B," Eve crowed, sauntering over to the hunter and the angel. She looked at Castiel with a slight smile on Mary's familiar face. "And you, wondering why so flaccid? I'm older than you, Castiel. I know what makes angels tick. Long as I'm around, consider yourself unplugged." She waited for a response, but Castiel just stared at her, stonefaced. She shrugged and turned away. "Now—"

Suddenly she shifted to the right, faster than visibly perceptible, as an ash-filled bullet zinged from somewhere in the rafters and buried itself in the wood behind the bar. "You sneaky little bastards," she breathed, and motioned to some of the Starships. "She's in the building. Go." They nodded and rushed off as Eve leisurely examined the bullet-hole. "Good shot. If I hadn't heard the click I might not have moved in time. But really, boys. You can't pull one past me."

From somewhere above them came a scream and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. A few seconds later the Starships reappeared, dragging Eli behind them. She was sporting a bloody lip and a black eye, a long cut down her arm. She was coughing, hard, her shoulders wracked with it, her feet nearly tripping over each other as she stumbled along.

"Oh look, it's the other angel. I had been hoping that you had enough sense to sit this one out," Eve said in a bored tone. She eyed Eli appraisingly. "Say, you don't look too well. A bit…incomplete, are we?"

"Bite me," she snapped, drawing in a ragged breath and standing straighter. Eve sighed.

"Would if I could. You would have been an interesting hybrid, part Nephilim, all monster. I would have liked to see you turned. Too bad you've got that pesky grace in the way. Now all I can do is kill you." Eli glowered. Eve laughed. "Dear, you couldn't be less of a threat if you tried." She paused, tapping her lip, thinking. "You know what, I'll keep you on hold. See if I can't work that grace out of you. It'll be an interesting experiment, if anything." She lightly tapped Eli on the shoulder and the angel fell to her knees, her whole body shaking with weakness. "Sit. Stay."

Eli could feel the world sway around her. She blinked, hard, trying to shake herself out of it. She could feel herself getting worse.

Finally the world stilled, just in time to see Eve sink her sharp teeth into Dean's neck. Eli grabbed a counter stool and pulled herself up, standing on shaky legs as Eve started to burn.

"Phoenix ash," Dean said smugly, holding his bloody neck. "One shell, one ounce of whisky. Down the hatch. Little musty on the afterburn. Call you later, Mom."

Light shined from under Eve's skin like white fire, burning her out. She choked, Mary's visage disappearing and her own young vessel emerging; she fell to her knees, face consumed in flames, before convulsing and then finally lying still.

Everything erupted into chaos as the newly-turned monsters screamed and attacked. Castiel held up his hands, light flaring from his palms.

"Shut your eyes!" he yelled, and everyone but Eli ducked. She watched him burn them away, and smiled a tiny, proud smile. _Innocent angel, indeed._

When everything had calmed down Castiel healed Dean and then Eli. She smiled at him, grateful to not have to heal herself, and let him support her as they gathered together near the door.

Dean rolled his newly-healed shoulder. "All right, we're good," he announced, picking up his gun. "We got to go. Now."

Castiel tilted his head, his arm still wrapped around Eli's waist and effortlessly keeping her up. "Where?"

Dean didn't meet anyone's eyes. "The kid," he mumbled, fidgeting. "The little kid. He's one of 'em."

Castiel let out a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a growl. "Unbelievable."

"Yeah, I know Cas, you told me, all right," Dean snapped, his pride clearly wounded. "Let's just go."

Castiel shook his head in disgust. He tightened his grip on Eli, and they all vanished.

* * *

Demons had already been there. The boy monsters were dead.

"So you think she was telling the truth?" Sam asked as they gathered outside, the night air cool and fragrant.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "The truth about what?"

"She said that Crowley's still kicking," Dean explained, in an almost apologetic tone, as if he didn't want to burden Castiel with it. Eli stood next to Castiel in the impromptu circle, her arms wrapped around herself. She could see that something had changed in Dean's demeanor. He looked…chastened? She wondered if the revelation about the children had shaken him.

Castiel blinked, processing the information. He looked shocked. "But I burned his bones, how c-?" He paused, pulling himself together, and continued in a steadier voice. "Was she certain?"

Dean shrugged. "Sounded pretty sure. According to her, Crowley's still waterboarding her kids somewhere."

Castiel shook his head, glancing at Eli. "I don't understand."

"Well he is a crafty son of a bitch," Dean said, his tone more kindly than it had been for a long time. Eli didn't know if she wanted to sigh or smile, but it looked like the old Dean might finally be back.

"I'm an angel," Castiel pointed out, his brow still deeply furrowed. "I'll look into it immediately." He paused. "The Impala is now parked around the corner." He turned to Eli and spoke in a softer voice. "Stay with them for now. Take the car. Eat something. Maybe sleep. I'll return shortly."

He kissed her forehead and disappeared.

Eli looked up: they were all staring at her. "Shotgun!" she sing-songed as if everything were normal, then walked quickly toward the car. She needed to sit immediately; her legs were shaking so badly she couldn't be sure that she wouldn't fall on her face. Flying was out of the question for at least the next few hours. Sleep sounded like a good idea. A great idea, actually. She could hardly keep her eyes open.

The men watched her go. "Man, what is up with her?" Dean asked, scratching his head. "Can angels even get colds?" He turned to find Bobby and Sam watching him strangely. "What?"

They hesitated. It was Bobby who spoke first. "How did Crowley get away? I mean, it's not like Cas to make mistakes like that. Unless –"

Dean turned to them, squaring his shoulders. "Unless what?" he challenged.

Bobby shared a glance with Sam. "Unless he meant to."

"Bobby, this is Cas we're talking about," Dean said with disbelief. He turned to Sam. "Do you believe this?" Sam said nothing, just shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and looked away. "Sam?"

Sam sighed, reluctantly looking back at them. "It's not just that, Dean. It's…it's Eli. I don't remember the other life but even I can tell … something's wrong with her-"

"Obviously," Dean scoffed, then stilled. "Wait. Are you telling me that you think Cas has something to do with it? Are you crazy?"

"Just seems odd, that's all," Bobby supplied. "She gets her grace and then… gets sick? That didn't happen in the other timeline. And Cas has nothing to say about it?"

"He's looking, man, and he's fighting a war!" Dean looked between them wildly. "I know I've been kind of a dick to him lately, but - dudes, come _on_. The other shit I can see, maybe, but _Eli_? She's the love of his life! She's like, his fucking _soul mate_! And you think he would—"

"Okay, okay," Sam said, putting up his hands. "You're right. It's probably nothing."

"Damn right it's nothing," Dean grumbled before stomping off to the car. Bobby and Sam shared another look before following.

In the car, Eli was already asleep.

* * *

Castiel stood in the diner, surveying the dead with thinly veiled disgust. Eve was really gone, her burnt corpse still smoldering near his feet. Music clicked on and started to play; if Castiel had been more up-to-date on contemporary music (and irony), he would have realized it was a song by Jefferson Starship.

"Really, Cas?" Crowley said, appearing a few feet in front of him, a sneer on his face. "This is getting ridiculous. How many times am I going to have to clean up your messes?"

"The circumstances were…unforeseen," Castiel said, still surveying the bodies. "It won't happen again."

Crowley let out a disbelieving _hmph_. "And your little Miss?" he asked, snapping on plastic gloves and bending to probe one of the bodies. "How long until she starts to realize—"

"I'll deal with her," Castiel said coldly. "Just do your job. I'll be in touch."

Wings beat, and Crowley was left alone in the diner. He snapped his fingers, demons appearing around him.

"Get this lot to the factory," he ordered. "Bring Mama too. I want to have a look-see at our Queen Bee."

 


	18. He Who Would Be King

 

 

 

"I saw Cas," Dean announced when he arrived at the house. "He popped in on me about two hours back."

"What'd you tell him?" Bobby asked, twisting his hat in his hands. From the other room the chained demon let out a howl, the Knife still trapped and burning in his leg.

"Nothing, all right?" Dean snapped. He was visibly upset, his eyes darting from side to side, his fingers drumming on his legs. "Told him we were on some crap monster hunt. He doesn't know that we're getting close to Crowley." He glared at Sam and Bobby. "You know, he's our friend, and we are lying to him through our teeth. So he burned the wrong bones. So Crowley tricked him."

"He's an angel," Bobby said in a patient voice. Dean shook his head vehemently.

"He is the Balki Bartokomous of Heaven! He can make a mistake!"

"There's also Eli," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, and what do we know about that?" Dean asked, picking up a bottle of whisky. "Something's wrong with her. _That's it_. For all we know it could have nothing to do with Cas! I mean, she's back up in Heaven now. She could be getting better. She could be fine the next time we see her. Right?"

"Dean—" Bobby started. Dean swung on him.

"Right?"

"Nobody's saying nothing yet," Bobby said placatingly.

"You think that Cas is in with Crowley? You think he's doing shit to Eli? What is this, bizarro world?"

"Look, I'm just saying I don't know," Bobby said, replacing his hat and shaking his head. "I hate myself for even thinking it. But I don't know."

Dean opened his mouth, but Sam interjected quickly.

"Dean, he's our friend too, okay? And I'd die for him. I would, but…" He clenched his hands and jaw, frustrated. "I'm praying we're wrong here."

"But if we ain't..." Bobby said, stepping in before Dean could protest again. "If there's a snowball of a snowball's chance here... that means we're dealing with a Superman who's gone dark side. A Superman who has Eli and is doing God-knows-what to her. Which means we've got to be cautious, we got to be smart, and maybe stock up on some Kryptonite."

"This makes you Lois Lane," Dean said, elbowing Sam in the ribs.

"Look, one problem at a time here," Bobby said, losing his patience. "We got to find Crowley now, before the damn fool cracks open Purgatory."

Invisible in the corner, Castiel listened.

* * *

"This place is clean," Sam said, inspecting the demon's house. Bobby emerged from another room, disheartened.

"Yeah, but it's like "Mr. Clean" clean, you know? It's kind of OCD for your average demon."

Bobby was right; the air smelled fresh, with a peculiar oxygenated scent. No dust was on the floor or shelves, the books neatly stacked. They lowered their shotguns and stood in a rough semicircle. "So what now?" Sam asked in a defeated voice.

Dean pointed out what none of them wanted to say. "This is usually the point where we would call Cas for help."

"We talked about this," Bobby said gruffly, leaning on the wall, his gun propped against his hip.

"No, you talked," Dean snapped, standing up straight, his shoulders squared, chin tilted up. "I listened. This is Cas, guys. I mean, when there was no one, and we were stuck - and I mean really stuck - he broke ranks. He has gone to the mat cut and bleeding for us so many fuckin' times. He did all that in _two_ realities! He brought us all back together again! And we've – okay, I've – been, well, kind of taking him for granted lately, I'm man enough to admit it. With Sam the soulless wonder and Eli coming back and our brains being like, rebooted, and Samuel and Eve and the angel war, it's been a tough couple months. But now I'm sticking up for him. This is Cas! Don't we owe him the benefit of the doubt at least?"

He stared at them desperately, his face full of hope. Sam and Bobby glanced at each other, then Bobby gave a jerky nod and Sam cleared his throat.

"Castiel... this is really important, okay? Um... we really need to talk to you," he said, faltering. Dean took over.

"Castiel... come on in," he said, pitching his voice lower, his eyes closed. Nothing happened. He cracked them open, peering around the room. His shoulders slumped. "Cas is busy."

"That's all right," Sam said, moving toward the door with the air of someone desperately trying to change the subject. "We are, too. Come on."

They were almost at the door when the demons attacked.

There were three of them, one for each hunter, and they were bigger and stronger than the humans, tossing them to the side like rag dolls. Sam went crashing through a door; Dean found himself pinned under one, fists pummeling his face.

Then, they were gone.

With improbable speed Castiel moved among the demons, burning each one from the inside. His face was set and righteous, and Dean felt the spark of friendship and trust inside of him rekindle at the sight of the angel. Maybe things would be okay after all.

"We never should've doubted you," Dean swore when the demons were dead. Behind him, Sam and Bobby nodded, a bit more reluctantly, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that the family was finally getting back together again. Now all they had to do was kill Crowley and fix Eli up and it would all be okay. "It's... I just hope you can forgive us."

Castiel smiled, an odd sight. For the first time Dean wondered what it was that Eli saw, when she was alone with him. If he wasn't always the stoic, clueless angel around her. If there was another side of him altogether. "It's forgotten."

Maybe when this was all over, they'd all go out for a beer. No hunts, no problems, just…family, and beer, and conversation. He felt he owed the angel that much.

"It is a little absurd, though," Castiel said with that weird lopsided smile that looked like he was doing it wrong. "Superman going to the dark side. I'm still just Castiel."

Everything slowed down. Dean could hear the blood pounding in his ears. He felt sick.

"I guess we can put away the Kryptonite, right?" he finally said, and this time it was his smile that was forced.

Castiel nodded, looking relieved. "Exactly."

"Hey, how's Eli?" he asked with fake nonchalance.

Castiel hesitated. "She's fine. Better, actually. I think we're about to have a breakthrough."

"Great," Dean said softly. "Great."

He had never wished for the old reality more than at that moment.

* * *

By the time Castiel reached Crowley's hideout, he was in a full rage.

"You sent demons after them?" he bellowed, storming through the doors with a greater show of force than necessary, the lights sparking above him.

Crowley, as usual, stayed completely calm and a little smug in his impeccable suit. "You kill my hunters. Why can't I kill yours?"

"They're my friends," Castiel said, stopping too close the demon, invading his person space. He gave his best righteous glower but Crowley wasn't impressed.

"You can't have friends, not anymore," he snapped, lightly pushing Castiel away. "I mean, my God. You're losing it!"

"I'm fine," Castiel insisted. Crowley scoffed.

"Yeah. You're the very picture of mental health. Come on. Didn't I tell you that you crossed the line a long time ago? Just look at what you're doing to the supposed love of your life. Even I think that's sick, mate, though if it gets results I'm not complaining. She's not feeling too well, I suppose? Maybe I'll pop by and check on her sometime." Castiel didn't rise to the bait; he turned away, stone faced. Crowley smirked. "You don't think I know what this is all about?"

"Enlighten me," Castiel said in a very low voice, as if he were afraid of the answer.

"The big lie - the Winchesters still buy it. Probably the Missus does too, poor thing. The good Cas, the righteous Cas. And as long as they still believe it, you get to believe it. Well, I got news for you, kitten. A whore is a whore is a whore."

Castiel turned and shoved him against the wall, busting through the tiles with enough pressure to kill a mortal man.

"I'm only going to say this once," he growled. "If you touch a hair on the Winchesters' heads, I will tear it all down. If you _ever_ speak to or visit or even _think_ about my mate, I will end it. Our arrangement - everything. I'm still an angel, and I will bury you."

He vanished, leaving Crowley to stumble and almost collapse to the floor. "This is not how synergy works!" the demon screamed to the air, alone with his rage.

* * *

The next thing Castiel knew, his friends, the very same ones he had died for and had fought so hard to save, had trapped him in a ring of fire.

"You know who spies on people, Cas? Spies!" Dean yelled, and the hurt in his voice was so palpable that Castiel flinched.

He floundered. "Okay, just wait. I don't even know what you mean."

"What about this demon craphole?" Sam asked quickly. "How is it so, uh... 'Next to Godliness' clean in here?"

"And how exactly did Crowley trick you with the wrong bones?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah, and what the hell is wrong with Eli? Really?" Dean shouted.

It was too much, too many questions. Castiel couldn't process it. "It's hard to understand," he stuttered. "It's hard to explain." It was too hot inside the circle; the flames were too close. It reminded him of when Lucifer trapped him. The claustrophobia was almost overwhelming. "Just let me go. Let me out and I can –"

"You got to look at me, man," Dean said evenly. "You got to level with me and tell me what's going on. Look me in the eye and tell me you're not working with Crowley." He moved his head so that he was directly in Castiel's line of vision, forcing the angel to look at him. Castiel did, for a brief moment, and then it all became too much. He looked away, guilt clearly etched on his features. Dean let out a long breath. "Son of a bitch."

"Let me explain," Castiel said pleadingly.

"You're in it with him? You and Crowley have been going after Purgatory together? You have, huh? This whole time." He let out a slow, disbelieving whistle.

Now it was out. Castiel needed them to understand. They were his _friends._ "I did it to protect you. I did it to protect all of you."

"Protect us how? By opening a hole into monsterland?" Sam asked incredulously.

"He's right, Cas," Bobby said, and Castiel nearly wanted to cry from frustration. "One drop got through, and it was Eve. And you want to break down the entire dam?"

"I thought you were supposed to be new and improved Cas, better, more human," Dean said bitingly. "How the hell did you even get involved in all of this?"

"The Other Castiel started it," Castiel admitted, hanging his head.

"And what, you thought you'd finish it?" Dean asked.

"I am different," Castiel stressed. "But Dean, remembering my other life has only made me _more_ desperate to stop Raphael, to get the souls, so that things can go back to the way that they used to be. You remember it too. Don't you want that back?"

"Yeah, I want it back, but I'm not ready to blow up the world to get it," Dean said, leaning closer to the flames, his face alight with dancing shadows. "I'm not willing to fuck with the people who really care about me."

"What does that mean?" Castiel asked cautiously.

"You know what it means, you son of bitch," Dean snapped. "Eli. What are you doing to her?"

"It's all right, I promise," Castiel said desperately. "You know that I would never do anything to hurt her, you know that. Please, you have to trust me."

"Trust you?" Sam said, leaning against the doorway, shaking his head. "How in the hell are we supposed to trust you now?"

"I'm still me. I've always been me. I'm still your friend. Sam—" He stopped, took a deep breath, and then continued doggedly. "The Other Castiel…he was the one who raised you from Perdition." He looked between them, his expression pleading. "So you see, I've always been on your side, before or after the time shift."

Sam was shaking his head. "For all we know, Other You brought me back soulless on purpose."

"How could you think that?" Castiel asked, aghast. "In any reality, I would never—"

"I'm thinking a lot of things right now, Cas," Sam said coldly.

"Listen," Castiel said, trying to stay on topic. He felt like his ship was floundering and he was inches away from drowning. "Raphael will kill us all. He'll turn the world into a graveyard. I had no choice."

Dean shook his head. "No, you had a choice. You just made the wrong one."

There was a sound like the faintest fluttering of wings. "Right, because Dean Winchester always makes the best fucking choices."

They all turned at the sound of the new voice. "Eli, no!" Castiel yelled, surging as close to the fire as he possibly could. "Stay out of this! You're too weak!"

"Eli, you're—" Dean started, and then she stepped into the light and the words died on his lips. "Holy _shit_."

She was worse, far worse. Her whole body was shaking with the very act of standing, her skin deathly white except for strange red blotches spreading across her chest and face. Her hair seemed to be falling out. Her eyes were dull, but determined.

"Let him out," she demanded in a cracked voice, before faltering and nearly falling to her knees. She grabbed onto the wall for support. "I mean it. This has gone far enough."

Bobby stepped forward, his face contorted with rage and eerie in the fire's light. "What have you done to her, you son of a bitch!" he snarled in a far deadlier voice than any of them had ever heard.

"Bobby, stop," she said, coughing.

"Eli, for God's sake, look at you," Sam said, approaching her. She held up a hand to ward him off. "You can't deny that something is really wrong."

"Yeah, or that _he_ has somethin' to do with it," Bobby said in his blinding-anger voice.

"Are you listening to yourselves?" Eli asked hotly, or as hotly as she could. Half of her attention seemed to be focused on not sliding to the floor. "Of course something is wrong but if you'd just let Cas explain I'm sure he has—"

"Oh, he's just full of explanations tonight," Dean said sarcastically. She glared at him.

"Enough is enough. This isn't how we treat family," she snapped, holding up her hand. "I'm stopping this now."

"Eli, stop!" Castiel commanded. "You're not—"

It was too late. She had over-extended herself. The flames around Castiel flickered but did not go out, and the attempt left Eli crumpling to the floor in a dead faint.

"Fuck, Eli!" Dean was by her in an instant, lifting her into his arms. He glared at Castiel. "I don't even know you anymore, man. How could you do this? To _her_?"

"You don't understand," Castiel said in a very broken voice. "It's complicated."

"You should've come to us for help, Cas," Dean said with a note of finality. "Before it got so far. Now, man? I don't know if there's any coming back from where you are now."

Castiel shook his head. "It's too late anyway. I can't turn back now. I can't."

A sound started to shake the rafters. Dean glanced outside to see a whirling cloud of smoke cover the moon: Demons. A whole horde of them. He turned back to Castiel, trying one last time.

"Okay, look, maybe we can fix this," he said hurriedly. "I mean, maybe if you just tell me what's going on with Eli, if you have a good reason…" He trailed off to the sight of Castiel shaking his head vehemently.

"Dean, it's not broken." He looked out the window too; the sounds were coming closer, the sky nearly blacked out. "Run," he said urgently, still trying to protect them. "Take Eli and run now! Run!"

They complied. Dean was the last to leave. He turned at the door, Eli still clasped in his arms, and stared at Castiel for one brief moment. The sounds drew nearer. He tucked his head to his chest, cradling Eli's form protectively, and darted into the night, leaving Castiel alone and trapped in a ring of fire.

* * *

Eli woke up in Bobby's house. For a moment she was disoriented, then shapes shifted in the dim light and she realized that she was on Bobby's couch, a thin blanket pulled over her.

"Hey, take it easy," Sam said, crouching by her and offering a glass of water, which she took and began to guzzle greedily. "Slow down, you're okay. You're safe."

Eli finished the water and put it on the floor, slowly sitting up. "What happened?" she asked, her voice hoarse and exhausted. "Wha—where's Castiel?" They were silent. She gaped at them. "You didn't…you didn't just _leave_ him there, did you? Trapped?"

"We didn't have a choice," Sam said with quiet regret. Eli pushed the blanket away, standing with some difficulty. She took notice of the angel-proofing on the windows.

"What's that?"

"…protection," Sam said reluctantly as Dean moodily poured himself another drink and Bobby rubbed his face with both hands. "No angel can get in."

"Or out, for that matter," Bobby interjected.

"Meaning?" she challenged, holding the couch for support. Her legs felt like they were going to crumble underneath her.

"Meaning nothing comes in or out of this house, 'specially you," Bobby said with finality. "And for God's sake, sit down. You look like you're about to keel over again."

"What's going on?" she asked again. "Why can't I leave?"

"Look, Eli, this is really hard to say," Sam started, trying to guide her back to the couch. "Maybe you should sit—"

"I'm _fine_ ," she snapped. "Just spit it out. This has to do with Crowley, right?"

Sam sighed, glancing at Dean and Bobby. "We think…" he said hesitantly. "We think it's Castiel."

Eli managed to put her hands on her hips for a split second, then reconsidered and gripped the wall. She felt like she was going to throw up. "You think what's Castiel?"

"We think he's doing something to you," Bobby said as gently as he could. "Making you sick."

Her jaw dropped. The world spun. "Are you… are you fucking kidding me? Why on earth would he do something like that?"

There was a moment of awkward silence. Then Dean said, a little drunkenly: "Souls."

Eli raised her eyebrows. "What?"

Dean glared up at her from his chair in the corner, like it was her fault, though there was worry and guilt in his eyes too. "Cas is after souls, right? In Purgatory. For their power."

"So?" Eli challenged.

Sam took over as Dean drained another shot. "So what if this has something to do with your soul? Your power?"

Eli gaped at him. "You're saying he's, what, draining my soul? Do you even hear yourselves?"

"Think about it, Eli," Sam said with his best earnest, puppy-dog face. "I'm caught up on a lot of information about you… I even remember some of it, you know, bits and pieces. It's obvious that you've always been special, whether you're human, angel, Nephilim, whatever. You've always had some kind of juice up your sleeve that no one else can tap. What if your soul's the same way? I mean, angels don't usually even have souls, right? But you do. What if it's…special."

"Yeah, like…super soul me," Dean piped up from the corner.

Eli shook her head. "You're crazy."

Sam shrugged. "It's an explanation."

"A damn good one at that," Bobby said sourly. "Even you have to admit it makes sense."

"No. No, it doesn't," she insisted, her voice wavering.

Bobby cocked an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because Castiel would never do something like that!" she cried hoarsely. "We're talking about Cas here, guys. _Cas_ , my Cas. He's the reason I'm here, he brought me back, gave me my memories, everything! What is wrong with you? He'd rather die than hurt me!"

"A couple hours ago I would have agreed completely," Dean said, pouring another drink with unsteady hands. "But things change."

"There are other options," she insisted.

"Such as?" Bobby drawled.

"Such as, the grace was tainted, maybe by Raphael. Or by Balthazar, he was the one who gave it to me. It's a possibility."

Bobby sighed, standing and walking toward her. "Sure, it's a possibility. But if that was the case, don't you think Cas would have figured it out by now? Don't you think that would have been his first priority? He's an angel, Eli, and a damn powerful one. He doesn't stay in the dark that long, not unless he's hiding something."

"Yeah, he pretended he couldn't find Crowley, either," Dean said, still sitting in the shadows. "Seems to me like he's finally learned to lie."

Eli took a faltering step forward. "You listen to me, you arrogant son of a bitch," she hissed. "Castiel would never hurt me. He would never betray me. We are there for each other, do you understand what that means? Like you are for Sam. After everything he's done for you, you're just going to stand there and…"

She broke off, coughing so hard she couldn't breathe. Bobby took her arm, trying to get her to the couch.

"Woah, easy girl," he muttered soothingly. "Here, why don't you sit down—"

"I will not sit down!" she yelled, yanking her arm from his grip. "Listen to me, all of you! This is Cas. He died for you, twice. He exploded, remember that? He left Heaven for you, he rebelled for you. He went into hell for you, twice. He's saved your lives more times than I can count. He's fighting an Archangel to save your world. Would any of you die for him? Really? Would you even think about it? Would you go into hell for him? And you just turn your backs on him the moment that you feel suspicious?"

She stumbled and Sam took her other arm, holding her up. "Eli, facts are facts. Something is going on here, and it has to do with you being sick and with Cas working with the King of hell!"

"You don't even know me, Sam," she muttered brokenly. "No, he wouldn't…he couldn't…" She squeezed her eyes shut, tears welling behind them. "I don't believe you!"

"Holy crap, are you brainwashed," Dean said, finally standing and making his way over to them. He pointed a finger at Eli aggressively. "You are in a textbook abusive relationship, you know that? Always defending him, always putting him first, ignoring the signs. He's been lying to you this whole time, working with Crowley behind your back! He's draining you, Eli, you have to know that, deep inside. You have to leave. Stay with us. We can protect you."

"No!" she insisted, her voice going higher. "He wouldn't do that to—"

"How do you know?" Dean yelled, losing his patience.

"Because I'm dying!" she yelled right back, only to dissolve into a fit of coughing a moment later.

There was silence in the room. "…what?" Bobby finally croaked.

Sam tightened his grip on her arm. "Jesus, Eli, are you…are you sure?"

She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself. "Whatever is happening to me…it's eating me alive," she said softly, tears running down her face. She looked at them each in turn. "Now look at me and tell me Cas is capable of killing me for the cause. Me."

Bobby sighed. "I don't know what he's capable of anymore, but I do know that I care about you too much to trust him within a hundred miles of you. You're staying here until we figure something out. End of story."

Eli attempted to glare at him, but couldn't quite muster it. "You're going to keep me here? What, is it time for the panic room?"

"We don't have a choice, Eli," Sam said.

Eli drew herself up, shaking off Sam's arm. "You forget that I'm an angel. I can leave whenever I want. And I'll have you know that—"

The stress was too much. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she collapsed, Sam barely catching her. He looked at Dean and Bobby with worry.

"Well…that went well."

* * *

Dean awoke later that night to the unmistakable sound of wings.

He had fallen into a restless sleep on the couch, the sigils scrawled on the windows above him, lending him some small sense of protection. Eli was unconscious in the spare bedroom, her own windows painted with protection markings. Sam was camped outside her door on a cot, just in case, and from the soft rumble of his snores was sleeping soundly.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean shot up, swinging his legs over the side of the couch. Castiel was standing there, half in shadow, his shoulders slumped but apparently unharmed.

"How'd you get in here?" Dean hissed, standing.

"The angel-proofing Bobby put up on the house - he got a few things wrong," Castiel said quietly, as if trying not to wake anyone else up.

"Well, it's too bad we got to angel-proof in the first place, isn't it?" Dean spat. The very sight of the angel was making him sick. "Why are you here?"

"I want you to understand—" Castiel started, but Dean cut him off.

"Oh, believe me, I get it. Blah, blah, Raphael, right?"

"Will you never stop interrupting me?" Castiel asked, exasperated. "You haven't allowed me to explain myself at all. You've barely allowed me to speak."

"What's there to explain?" Dean asked. "You're gonna blow up the world to save the world, seems simple to me. Oh, and you're killing your girlfriend in the process. That's a nice touch. Classy."

"I'm doing this for you, Dean," Castiel said, taking a step forward, his blue eyes very wide and wounded. "I'm doing this because of you. Because of you and Sam and Bobby and Eli."

Dean almost laughed. "Because of us. Yeah. You got to be kidding me." He shook his head and started pacing the dark room, doing whatever he could to not look Castiel in the face. Why was he even here?

Castiel tried again. "You're the one who taught me that freedom and free will –"

"You're a fuckin' child, you know that?" Dean said in a tightly controlled voice. "Just because you can do what you want doesn't mean that you get to do whatever you want!"

"Then give me another option," Castiel snarled, suddenly angry. "If you're so smart. Tell me how to stop an Archangel. Tell me how to save the world."

Dean faltered. Castiel couldn't suppress the small swell of triumph in his chest. "I know what I'm doing, Dean."

"I-I'm not gonna logic you, okay?" Dean finally said. "I'm saying don't... just 'cause. I'm asking you not to. That's it."

"You can't think of another solution, can you?" Castiel asked. "You would rather let the world end than trust me to try and fix it."

Dean approached him, something like fear on his face. "Look, next to Sam, you and Bobby and Eli are the closest things I have to family - you are like a brother to me. So if I'm asking you not to do something... you got to trust me, man."

Castiel almost laughed, except it wasn't funny. "You know, you only pull the 'family' card when your threats don't work," he said dryly. Dean shook his head.

"What happened to you?"

"I learned to speak for myself," Castiel said. "Call it a side effect of being more human."

"It's made you more of a douche, that's what it's done," Dean said. Castiel merely stared hard at him, as if Dean was proving a point just by saying that. Dean huffed and tried again. "Don't do it. _Please_."

Something dark flashed across Castiel's face. "Or what?"

"Or I'll have to do what I have to do to stop you," Dean said in a low voice.

"Threaten or cajole, Dean," Castiel said with a sigh. "Is that the only way you work?"

"I'm serious," Dean said. "I'll stop you."

"You can't, Dean. You're just a man. I'm an angel. You can't stop me from doing anything I want." He paused. "Or taking anything I want."

Dean looked startled, then instinctively moved to the doorway as if to physically block Castiel from passing. "You're not taking her, Cas. I won't let you."

"Dean," Castiel rasped, his eyes an eerie blue in the dark. He took a step forward. "Do you really think I would have stood here speaking with you if there was even the slightest chance that you could stop me?" Dean stared at him, uncomprehending. "She's been gone this whole time. I took her half an hour ago."

Dean gaped at him for a moment, then whirled around and shot up the stairs to Eli's room, as if hoping to still find her sleeping in her bed. Castiel watched him go.

 


	19. Blood and Love

 

 

When Eli woke up, she was back in Heaven.

She sat up in the bed, momentarily disoriented. "Wow, this house," she murmured, taking in her surroundings, the window that overlooked misty mountains in the distance, the large four poster bed. She trailed her fingers along the sheets. "Never thought I'd see you again."

"I recreated it. From memory."

Eli turned to see Castiel lingering in the doorway. She smiled widely despite her exhaustion. "It's perfect." She patted the bed. "Come here."

He approached slowly, his head bowed. She tugged at his hand until he was sitting next to her. "What?" she asked. "Is it Sam and Dean?"

"They just won't _listen_ ," he said listlessly, resting his hand on her blanket-covered knee. "They won't even let me explain."

"Could you even if they let you?" she asked, leaning forward and running her fingers along his stubbled cheek. "You know we can't tell anyone about me."

"I know," he said softly, rubbing her knee. "Crowley has ears everywhere; he cannot find out."

"I don't like it either," she said. "Lying. I tried to get them off your back. I told them I was dying, if you can believe it. I thought that would make them see that you couldn't do this to me, but…"

"They're convinced," he said flatly, his eyebrows drawing in, his eyes heavy-lidded and sad. "They truly think that I am capable of hurting you. It astounds me, how little faith they have."

"Oh, love," she murmured, sitting up and pulling him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing his nose to her hair, his shoulders shaking.

"I hate seeing you like this," he said in a muffled voice. She sighed, rubbing his back.

"But I'm _fine_ , Cas, you know that. It's just a necessary pain-in-ass I have to go through. A little weakness, a little exhaustion. I can deal with it. Just be thankful that it's only manifesting physically. I'dve hated to turn out like Sam."

"That's impossible," he said. "You are not missing all of your soul." He paused, surveying her pale face. "But I still think—"

She put her finger on his lips. "We discussed this, Cas. We're in this together. You're not alone. If you have a Purgatory plan, I get to have your back. That's our deal. Okay?"

He nodded. "I know that you are too stubborn to go back now."

She cracked a smile. "Damn straight."

He smiled for a moment, but it faded into a pensive look, like clouds passing over the sun. "I just wish there was some way to make Dean and Sam understand."

"Telling them is as good as telling Crowley," she said. "You know he has them bugged. And it's not like they're the most discreet people."

"They're our friends," he stressed. She leaned into his shoulder. He smelled like summertime.

"They'll still be there when it's all over and we can explain. But Cas, you knew from the beginning they would never agree." She sighed. "They're so _arrogant._ "

"And we aren't?"

"Touché."

"You shouldn't have gone to earth," he said in an admonishing voice.

"I should have left you in holy fire?" she asked, snuggling closer to him. She felt him absently start to stroke her hair, his fingers trailing from her scalp down to her shoulder blades.

"Look what happened. Crowley could have become suspicious."

"Crowley thinks he's the king of the game," she pointed out. "He doesn't dare dream that silly old you could double cross him."

"Silly old me?" he said softly, kissing the top of her head. She gave a little hum of content, letting him hold her for a few minutes.

"So…if you do this," she finally said. "If you succeed and get the souls from Purgatory, you'll be, like, a nuclear reactor." It wasn't a question, just a worried statement.

Castiel rested his cheek on top of her head. "More like… a God, actually."

"Sure you can handle it?" she asked lightly, but it betrayed a deeper emotion. He shifted back and lifted her chin so that she was staring into his eyes.

"I am sure of nothing. But if I fail, if I am caught or deceived or unable to finish the spell, you will be the one who has to worry about the souls."

"I've been Godlike before," she said in that same faux-joking voice. "I can handle it."

"Eli," he said seriously.

"I know, I know, no making light of the big battle," she said, pausing to lean away and cough. Castiel held her steady as she did so, her whole body shaking like a leaf. When she was done she fumbled with the chain under her shirt, pulling it out so that the small gold box was visible, dangling from the end. She let it spin in the air, its Enochian symbols gleaming. "I can't wait to have it back again," she said softly. "It's really terrible, feeling like this. Like a breeze could break me. To feel it wrenched from me, piece by piece, and shoved in a box." She shuddered.

"If I succeed, you'll immediately get it back," he promised, watching the box spin. "And if I lose—"

"I'll come out of my body and use the unrestrained cosmic explosion of my human soul colliding with my angelic grace to tear a hole into Purgatory, I know," Eli murmured. She bit her lip nervously. "I'm still not sure I'm going to be able to find it."

"It's instinctive," Castiel reminded her. "You're a half-human hybrid, not a daughter of Eve but still technically a monster. An aberration: the angel with a soul. That means that if your soul is free from your body—"

"It goes straight to Purgatory and I suck up the souls like a vacuum cleaner, yeah, I've heard the theory. Doesn't mean I completely believe it."

"Is it any odder than an incantation from HP Lovecraft being the answer?" Castiel asked, a bit cynically. "We live in strange times."

"And Crowley truly believes that you're siphoning my soul away to power yourself." She shook her head disbelievingly. "I guess evil can't comprehend anything better than itself."

"It's what he would have done," Castiel agreed. "So it allows him to believe that I'd do it."

She kissed him lightly, then pressed her forehead to his. "Sam and Dean will come around," she said quietly. "They always do."

"Not this time," he said, resting his hands on her shoulders and closing his eyes. "Not unless we win. And even then—"

"They _will_ come around," she promised. "They may be dicks but they're family. Once they see that I'm fine, that the Purgatory plan has worked, that they can live their lives without fear of Heaven's war, they'll…they'll thank you."

"I believe you are too optimistic," he said grimly. "But I hope that you are right."

Eli kissed him, then leaned back so she was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "All right, love, come on. Hit me."

"No," Castiel said sharply. "You've had enough. You're too weak."

"I'm—"

"You are not _fine_ ," Castiel contradicted. "You can barely stand."

"Cas, am I going to die by this?" she asked. He didn't answer, merely glared at her. "No, I won't. Will my chances at getting through to Purgatory be greater if more of my soul is out of my body? Yes it will. A soul without a body goes straight to the afterlife; the explosion of it reconnecting with my true form will rip the hole to pass over without dying. Easy. So come on." She wiggled on the bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. "I'm ready."

Castiel sighed and leaned over her, his hand reluctantly poised over her stomach. "I do not wish to do this again."

"I still can't believe I'm even letting you have the first go with your Lovecraft plan," she grumbled. "I can't believe I'm not sneaking around and trying to do everything on my own. It's…weird."

He almost smiled. "I believe it's called 'personal growth.'" His face went somber. "Hold very still."

She grinned weakly. "Love you."

"And I you," he said, before his hand flared with light and started to sink into her, reaching for the weakened fragments of her soul. She screamed, her body bucking upward, until he pulled out a small glowing ball and added it to greater piece inside the golden box.

* * *

Balthazar was supremely pissed when the Winchesters summoned him yet again.

"I was drinking '75 Dom out of a soprano's navel when you called," he ranted, still clutching his martini glass. " _That_ was important."

"Crowley's alive," Sam said quickly, as if fearful the angel would just fly away. Balthazar rolled his eyes and took a sip of his cocktail.

"Well you've been scooped. Cas already told me."

"Well did Cas tell you that he is Crowley's butt-buddy, you smug little dick?" Dean growled. Balthazar cocked an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"Handshake deal," Sam elaborated. "Go halfsies on all the souls of Purgatory. He fill you in on that?"

Balthazar blinked a few times. Castiel was doing _what_? "Well, yes, yes. Yes, of course he did. Yes," he stuttered, thinking quickly. He took another gulp of martini. It did rather make sense.

"Oh, yes, of course," Sam drawled sarcastically, and Balthazar realized that he rather preferred the little ape without his soul. "We can read it all over your face."

"Did he also tell you that he's the reason Eli is sick?" Dean asked. Balthazar stared at him with frank confusion.

"Yeah," Sam said, and the angel's attention swung to him. "He's draining her soul. It's killing her."

"Bollocks," Balthazar said harshly, tossing the glass away so that it shattered on the pavement. "Castiel loves the twit. Now you're just pulling accusations out of your ass."

"Ask him," Dean said bluntly. "See if he can lie his way out of it. Point is, we don't know what Cas is capable of anymore. And now he and Crowley took two people who are very important to me."

"And I care about this because?" Balthazar said, trying to sound flippant.

"Because maybe there is a shred of decency underneath this snarky crap," Dean said, a thin veneer of pleading over his anger. It wasn't very convincing. "They're innocent people and I'm asking for your help."

Balthazar suddenly realized what it was that he hated so much about the Winchesters. It was their entitled attitude, like just because Castiel played fetch with them any angel was their bitch. They stopped the apocalypse so they felt entitled to angelic assistance into their silly little lives.

"I see. Fair enough," he said with a shrug, and vanished. He had greater worries than Dean Winchester's girlfriend.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean yelled, kicking the gravel. Invisible, Balthazar smirked, then felt his smile slip away at the deeper implications of what the bastards had said.

It was possible that something was going to have to be done about Castiel. First, however, he needed to find out the truth.

* * *

Castiel knew that everything was starting to crumble when Balthazar summoned him.

"Can I ask you a direct question?"

Castiel felt his stomach drop. He stared at the face of his friend, still carefree, but with a slight tightening of the eyes that spoke volumes. "Of course."

Balthazar stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, a studiedly casual gesture. "Are you in figrante with the King of Hades?"

Castiel's breath hitched. He tried to school his face into something stoic. "Of course not."

Balthazar laughed, but it sounded forced. "Always were such a terrible liar. So it's true. All right then, why?"

Castiel sighed, rolling his shoulders. He looked up at the top of the trees, almost just noticing that they were in a forest, very much like the one he used to meet Uriel in. The ground was thick with pine needles, and every step sent their scent rising up, sharp and heady. The sky was very blue. He was struck again with the fierce necessity of defending this world, so beautiful and delicate and imperfect. "It's a means to an end. Balthazar, you understand that," he said honestly.

"Oh, absolutely," Balthazar said as if they were discussing the weather. "But what's the end here exactly? Raid Purgatory, snatch up all the souls?"

"Win the war," Castiel stated, staring coolly at his friend.

Balthazar was starting to look worried. "And I can only assume that you'd be the vessel, correct? Suck up all those souls into yourself? All that power?"

Castiel nodded. "It's the only way."

"Or too much juice for you, in which case you explode, taking a substantial chunk of the planet along with you," Balthazar pointed out.

"That won't happen," Castiel insisted in a low voice.

"Sure, sure," Balthazar said sarcastically. "Of course. Just tell me that it's entirely risk-free."

Castiel glanced upward again. He could hear a battle, and beyond that, the whisper of Eli's pain. He didn't have time to waste. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you, but I need to know. Are you with me or not?"

Balthazar pursed his lips, looking upward briefly as well before focusing on Castiel again, his faded blue eyes questioning. "You know I heard all of this from your howler monkeys. It seems your happy family is having some trust issues?" He paused. "They also seem to think that you're the reason your 'Lady' Elijah is, ah…indisposed. Something about you sucking up her soul energy, if you can believe it." He watched Castiel carefully. "I'm not going to lie, old friend, it has me a bit nervous."

Castiel hesitated. He wanted to tell his brother; he wanted another person to understand what he was going through. But he didn't know who to trust anymore, or who was listening, no matter where they were. This deal with Crowley had escalated into a cruel game, and Castiel just couldn't risk anyone finding out about Eli's true purpose. She was the backup, the last chance, if everything else went wrong and the world was about to end, and if Crowley got even a whisper that things were not exactly what they seemed, that Castiel was not actually draining her unique soul-energy for his own ends…that could bring their last chance crumbling around them.

In the end, Castiel just couldn't take that risk.

So he lied.

"How can you ask me that?" he rasped angrily. "I am doing everything in my power to find her a cure."

"So they're wrong?" Balthazar asked, raising an eyebrow.

"They are…misinformed," Castiel said delicately. "They have me pegged as the villain now. They are lashing out at me because they are frightened for their friend."

"So you're completely innocent?"

Castiel met his eyes. "Absolutely."

Balthazar hesitated, surveying Castiel, his face curiously blank. Then he shook himself out of it and smiled again. "Okay, Cas, if you say so, I believe you. You may be certifiable, but fine. In for a penny, in for a pound."

Castiel wished he believed him.

* * *

Balthazar appeared in Bobby's house, his air despondent. He looked a little drunk. "I know I'm gonna live to regret this - but I'm officially on your team. You bastards."

* * *

"Every attempt at reconciliation has failed."

Eli looked up from her spot at the window but didn't say anything. Castiel approached her, his head bowed.

"I saved Lisa. I violated her and her son's rights and wiped their memories, all to endear myself to Dean, to gain some modicum of trust again. It did nothing. I am out of options."

"You have one left," Eli said, then held open her hand to display the tiny box, glowing a light gold. "It's done. Enough of my soul is out of my body. You better hurry up with your plan, love, or I'm going to go ahead with mine."

 


	20. Knowing Too Much

 

 

Time was running out.

Castiel just needed to keep the Winchesters out of his business until nightfall, until the eclipse. Just one day, or Eli would continue with her plan, and she would be the vessel for the souls of Purgatory.

That was the last thing Castiel wanted. He understood that she had just as much of a chance of surviving the influx of souls as he did, perhaps more, as her true form was essentially pure power. But, he reminded himself, without the collar her true form would kill her within minutes. So why would this be any different? Castiel would risk the death of himself, but nothing could make him risk Eli's life.

It was a complicated trick she was planning. Her soul carefully stowed in a safebox outside of her body, she had to emerge from her physical vessel at the exact same moment that she released it. A soul separated from its body would immediately head to its afterlife, be it Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory, unless the soul was particularly tenacious and stayed on earth as a spirit.

But Eli was still alive. As an angel with a grace her true form was now huge, electric celestial power. If she came out of her vessel and reconnected with her wayward soul right as it was slipping to the Other Side, the collision would be enormous, creating a crack wide enough for her new, reunited self to slip in and out of Purgatory, absorbing all of the souls in the process.

It was risky, and he was damn lucky he had managed to make her agree to be the backup. But she would only wait so long, and the eclipse was that night. Castiel had to move fast.

He jerked his mind back to the scene. The dead body of the Purgatory native lay on the ground, bleeding from her stomach. Sam was holding Bobby back. Dean was screaming at him, again.

"You don't even see it, do you? How totally off the rails you are!"

Dean was right, in a way. Castiel was 'off the rails.' He had been for a long time, possibly since the moment he replaced this timeline's Castiel. He was soft, too emotional, too human. He wanted to win too badly. He had a desperate desire to protect. He craved affection and connection. He needed love, and family.

It hit him, for the first time, that Dean and Sam weren't the family he thought they were. Even though Dean remembered the other universe, it wasn't enough. Dean's trust was gone. His love was gone.

"I don't care what you think," Castiel finally snapped. "I've tried to make you understand. You won't listen. So let me make this simple. Please, go home and let me stop Raphael. I won't ask again."

"And you'll just keep on killing Eli?" Bobby snarled. "You gonna kill everyone I care about?"

"I am not killing her," Castiel said in a barely-controlled voice. "She will be fine. Just go home. Sam, Dean, Bobby, please…just go home."

"I think you already know the answer," Dean said in a fit of belligerence, his arms crossed, feet planted, as if about to start throwing punches.

Castiel shook his head. It was time for his final ploy. He only prayed it would sufficiently fool them.

"I wish it hadn't come to this," he said gravely. "Rest assured, when this is all over, I will save Sam, if you stand down."

Dean started. "Save Sam from what?"

Castiel vanished, only to appear next to Sam. He placed two fingers to Sam's forehead, and the younger Winchester went down.

Of course he hadn't really broken Sam's wall. That would be insanity, not to mention unnecessarily cruel. He had merely implanted a sophisticated hallucination into Sam's mind. In fact, it would help Sam, by allowing him a way to remember his time when he was soulless (and additionally, the other timeline), but also create the illusion that he did indeed remember his time in the cage. That little lie, of a few torturous moments of pain and fire much much weaker than the shattering months of inter-dimensional mental fracturing that actually occurred, would stop him from eternally picking at the real wall. It would save his life.

His friends, of course, could never know this, and would hate him forever, but they already did. It was far too late to salvage those relationships.

Castiel sighed. He was wasting time as it was.

It was time to break his contract with Crowley.

* * *

To say that Balthazar was nervous when Castiel called him would be a vast understatement. At this point, he was downright scared.

"We have a problem," Castiel said flatly, examining a jar of blood. "Dean Winchester is on his way here."

Balthazar shifted uncomfortably. He was beginning to regret getting involved in the Winchesters' business. "Really? Oh. How'd he even know where we were?"

Castiel sighed and put the jar down, his shoulders slumped. Though he wasn't looking up Balthazar could see the emotion in his eyes, a strange mixture of worry and anticipation and doubt. "Apparently we have a Judas in our midst."

Balthazar laughed nervously, and it rang false in the blood-soaked laboratory of Crowley's. "Ah. Holy hell. Who is it?" He jammed his hands in his pockets so that Castiel wouldn't see them tremble. "I bet it's that bloody little Cherub, isn't it?"

Castiel was watching him now, he realized, those blue eyes like lasers, narrowed and intense. Balthazar didn't like it. He felt terrible, having betrayed his brother. It seemed the proper, even the noble thing to do at the time, but now…

"I don't know," Castiel said, finally dropping his gaze. He stood, and seemed taller, somehow, or the space around him smaller. Less human. Or was it more human? Balthazar couldn't tell. "But I need you to find out."

"Of course," Balthazar said immediately, feeling a swell of relief in his stomach. "Right away. Right away." He hesitated, still trying to figure out this new Cas, this unfathomable Cas. Was he bad or good, human or cold-hearted angel warrior? "But what do you want me to do about Dean?"

Castiel didn't reveal anything. He merely turned his back and said, in flat voice: "Nothing. I'll handle him myself."

Balthazar took a tentative step forward. "Castiel? Are you all right?"

Castiel's shoulders trembled, an almost imperceptible motion. He still didn't turn around. "First Sam and Dean, and now this. I'm doing my best in impossible circumstances. My friends, they abandon me, plot against me. It's difficult to understand."

Balthazar tried to smile, but it was getting harder to force his muscles into the appropriate expression. The air felt weighted, dangerous. "Well, you've always got little old me."

Castiel sighed, drawing something from his coat pocket. When he turned around he was holding a familiar object, a resigned look on his face.

"Yes," he murmured, examining the object thoughtfully. "I'll always have you."

Balthazar's eyes widened as recognition sunk in and he surged forward as if to wrench the object from Castiel's hands. "Cas..." he gasped, falling too short.

It was like he was watching the scene in slow motion. Castiel lifted the small flute to his lips and blew one sweet note.

It lingered in the air, high and piercing. To Balthazar, it was like his whole body was being submerged in warm water, calming, blissful. Something was whispering in his ear: _sleep, sleep…_

He complied, crumpling to the ground, his still body oddly peaceful.

Castiel tucked the flute back into his jacket pocket and crouched by the sleeping angel, gently turning him over. "You gave me this weapon, old friend," he murmured. "It only seemed fitting that I use it to save your life." He closed his own eyes, his mouth pulled tight, his brows drawn together. "There is too much blood on my hands already," he said, so softly it was barely a breath. "Too much."

He pulled himself together with visible effort, then stood and sent out a telepathic call. Two of his loyal angels appeared in the room, their swords drawn.

"Put those away," Castiel said irritably. He nodded to the body. "Put him someplace safe. I will wake him when this is all over."

The angels nodded, and an instant later all three were gone, leaving Castiel alone in the stinking room with his jar of dog blood, waiting for the attack he knew was coming.

He only wished Crowley and Raphael would hurry up.

* * *

They took the bait, just as Castiel said they would. Even so, Eli was worried.

She watched, unseen, as Crowley performed the ritual with his jar of fake blood. Where was Castiel? It shouldn't be taking this long. If he didn't show up soon, they would realize that they had been had, and would probably seek him out, interrupting his own ritual. The whole plan could still fall apart.

Crowley was examining his jar, frowning in disbelief as nothing happened. "Maybe I said it wrong?" he asked, looking at Raphael. He sniffed the jar suspiciously. "Is this dog blood?"

"Enough," Eli finally said, becoming visible. Everyone, from Crowley and Raphael to the bloodied and beaten Dean and Bobby, started with surprise as she materialized in the middle of the room. She still looked awful, weak and pasty, shaking on her legs. "Enough of this."

"You?" Raphael asked with a sneer. "What are you doing here?"

Crowley laughed. "Going to take us on, sweetheart?" he asked, the jar in his hand momentarily forgotten. "Really? Look at you! There's brave and then there is just suicidal. Maybe you should learn the difference." He shook his head. "Now bugger off and let the adults talk."

"You're right, I don't have the juice to take you on," she said, pulling the long thin necklace out from under her shirt. "But this does."

The Archangel and the demon stared at it incredulously. "Is that—" Raphael started, stepping forward. Crowley grabbed her arm.

"Stand back, you idiot. You know the explosion that will happen when that thing gets released?" He turned to Eli with a sneer. "So that's it, then. The plan. He wasn't draining your soul at all, was he? He was _storing_ it. Bloody angel. I should have guessed." Eli merely smiling, holding it in her open hand. "So you're the vessel now, then? Going to bust into Purgatory? Kind of last minute, love."

"Stop talking," she said, and the box started to glow, the huge piece of her soul inside begging to be let out. She got ready to emerge from her body, steeling herself for the oncoming explosion and the journey ahead. She glanced at Dean and Bobby. "Cover your eyes."

"Stop, Eli."

Castiel's calm voice rang through the room. They all turned, Eli's hand curling protectively around the small box, adrenaline surging through her veins.

He was standing there, looking outwardly the same as ever. Tired, but with a strange sort of half-smile, his back straighter and head held higher. He was holding an empty jar, and underneath his placid exterior there was the sense of many things roiling, surging, like an ocean swell about to break.

For the first time, Eli was afraid.

"Stop," he said again. "It is unnecessary. In fact…" He moved his hand and the box shone gold before dissolving. Eli felt her soul rush up and into her body. She breathed in, the air crisp and sweet, her hair blowing back in an unseen wind, and like a mirage dissolving her sickness faded away, leaving her whole again.

Eli blinked, her muscles stiff, as if relearning how to work. The colors seemed brighter. Castiel burned hot in her vision, too hot. "Cas…" she murmured nervously.

Raphael was watching the exchange through narrowed eyes, her gaze finally landing on the jar in Castiel's hand. "That is the blood we need. Give it to us, Castiel."

Crowley let out a choked sound, part fear, part incredulity at the idiocy around him. "Use your eyes, Raph. Game's over. His jar's empty." His voice was coming out more hissing than human, his fear dissolving his genteel façade. "So, Castiel, how'd your ritual go? Better than ours, I'll bet."

Castiel smiled faintly, then bent his head and closed his eyes. A brilliant light shone from him, brighter than any angel's grace, brighter than the sun. Eli tried to look into it but it was too much, and after a few seconds she too threw her arm over her eyes, the power washing over the room like tidal waves, too strong and suffocating to withstand.

The light faded. Castiel's soft smile remained. "You can't imagine what it's like," he said quietly, introspectively. "They're all inside me. Millions upon millions of souls."

Crowley tried unsuccessfully to hide his terror. "Sounds sexy," he said, making nervous motions. "Exit stage Crowley."

He vanished. Raphael's horror showed on her face as she realized that she couldn't follow him.

Now Castiel was openly smug. "What's the matter, Raphael?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. "Somebody clip your wings?"

"Castiel, please," Raphael said, a tremor entering her voice, all trace of superiority gone. "You let the demon go, but not your own brother?"

Castiel spread his hands philosophically. "The demon I have plans for. You on the other hand..." He paused, then lifted his right hand and snapped his fingers. Raphael exploded, her angel-killing blade clattering to the floor. It was so simple and brutal, efficient, the great Archangel gone without so much as a whimper. Eli felt cold, her heart fluttering madly in her chest, her grace a weak glow next to Castiel's unfathomable power. It was too much. It felt alien, inhuman. It felt mad.

Eli remembered the crushing sensation of her own true form, how the whole world and universe whispered in her ear, how she knew all things that were and would ever be, how she could burn the world with a thought. It was terrifying, seeing that knowledge in Castiel's eyes.

Castiel turned that self-satisfied smile to the two mortal hunters, his back to her. "So, you see, I saved you."

Dean edged forward, visibly shaking. He couldn't sense Castiel's power the way that Eli could but he could obviously feel something, the hair lifting on his skin like he had stuck his finger in a socket. He looked terrible, and so very fragile, his shirt and body covered with stains of his own blood and stray droplets of Archangel goo. "Sure thing, Cas," he said carefully as Bobby just stared in horrified awe. "Thank you."

Castiel just nodded. "You doubted me, fought against me, but I was right all along."

Dean cast a nervous glance back at Bobby, then one at Eli, still standing dumbfounded on the other side of the room. "Okay, Cas, you were. We're sorry. Now let's just defuse you, okay?"

Castiel tipped his head, and it had never looked more inhuman. Eli could feel that power roiling under the surface, trying to break free. The shouts of millions of souls, screaming, howling, harnessed under his skin. She knew firsthand how addictive power could be. How righteous it felt. How right.

"What do you mean?" he asked, in a bemused, condescending way.

Dean took another step. "You're full of nuke. It's not safe. So before the eclipse ends, let's get them souls back to where they belong."

Castiel gave another peculiar smile, shaking his head. "Oh no, they belong with me."

"No, Cas," Dean croaked pleadingly, stumbling over his own words. "It's scrambling your brain."

Castiel was still shaking his head. "No, I'm not finished yet. Raphael had many followers, and I must punish them all severely."

The wrongness was overwhelming. _No more blood on my hands_ , that's what he had said. But she understood. He was above life and death now. Above humanity, above angels and demons. Like looking from a mountaintop, they would all appear so small and insignificant. He was one with the universe. A few angelic or mortal lives were nothing more than threads to be cut.

Dean took one last step, his voice shaking, his eyes huge and afraid. "Listen to me," he begged, for once humble. Castiel merely watched him, like he was an amusing pet that had learned to speak. "Listen, I know there's a lot of bad water under the bridge, but we were family once. I'd have died for you. I almost did a few times. So if that means anything to you... _please_. I've lost Lisa, I've lost Ben, and now I've lost Sam. Don't make me lose you too. You don't need this kind of juice anymore, Cas. Get rid of it before it kills us all."

Sam crept into the room, looking disoriented, his eyes fixed on Raphael's angel blade still on the floor. Eli watched him, wanting to shout at him to run, but the situation was too charged and her voice wouldn't work. The blade would do nothing. Sam was merely signing his own death warrant.

Something like regret flickered over Castiel's impassive face. "You're just saying that because I won. Because you're afraid. You're not my family, Dean. I only have one family."

He turned to face Eli just as Sam was about to stab him in the back. Sam faltered, looking into Castiel's unearthly blue eyes. Castiel just raised an eyebrow.

Calmly, the once-angel took the blade from Sam's hand and sunk it into his own chest.

Nothing happened. After a beat Castiel pulled it out again, the blade clean and bloodless. He put it down on the table. "I'm glad you made it, Sam. But the angel blade won't work, because I'm not an angel anymore." He smiled beatifically at them. "I'm your new God. A better one. And I won't be alone."

With that he turned and proceeded to ignore them, walking the last few steps to Eli.

"Cas…" she murmured, the sound nearly dying on her lips. It was too much; he was too powerful. She was actually scared. "Don't," she said weakly, not even sure what she was protesting.

He was smiling at her. "Elijah," he said warmly. "You always stood by me. You never doubted, you never betrayed. Ever loyal." He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "You're so very beautiful."

The touch of his skin was hot, almost electrical. His manner scared her. She skittered back, her breath shallow and fast. He frowned a little. "What is the matter?"

"Cas, you're scaring me," she stuttered. "It's—it's too much. Too much power."

He smiled again, peacefully. "No, it's not. You of all people should know of great power. You just can't see it properly. Not the way that you are now, with your grace chaining you to that form. But you will."

He took a step and she backed up. "Cas, what are you doing?" she asked, her voice going shrill. "Cas, you can't!"

He moved forward, inexorable. "An angel can't," he corrected her gently. "I am above such restrictions. I can hold you together, forever. There will be no collar, no servitude. This is your reward. We will be equals. You will see."

"Cas, don't," she begged, holding out her hands as if to ward him off. Her voice rose to a scream. "Stop it, please, _Cas! Don't! Stop it! Cas!_ "

"Be not afraid," he said, and then he reached into her and pulled her grace from her chest, freeing her true form.

Everything exploded.

 


	21. Be Not Afraid

 

 

The explosion arced outward, destroying everything in its path, a rolling ball of flame, hotter than the sun. Then it suddenly stopped and reversed, sucking back in on itself, leaving the room undestroyed, the humans unharmed, like it had never been.

Dean, Sam, and Bobby dropped their hands from their eyes, blinking woozily. "We're… alive?" Bobby muttered with confusion. Dean patted himself down, then jerked his attention to the two superbeings in front of them.

Eli looked almost the same: Same freckles, same face. There was the briefest moment when she appeared to be naked, but then Castiel twitched an eyebrow and she was clothed in a dress so white it seemed to glow.

Everything else looked wrong. Her hair floated around her like she was underwater, and when she opened her eyes they were completely green, a solid, blank stare. She felt different, too, like light was shining from under her skin, like when she moved she blurred, the air not falling quite right around her body, her form not quite material anymore.

"Son of a bitch," Bobby breathed. "He did it."

"Yeah," Dean muttered back. "Now there's two of 'em."

Eli was staring at her hands, turning them over like she had never seen them before. She lifted those eerie eyes and surveyed the room with an almost confused look, her gaze finally landing on Castiel.

This was it, Dean thought. Godzilla and Mothra, working together. Two hopped-up godlike beings. Great.

"No," she said, her first word, and her floating hair fell back in place, the pupils reappearing in her eyes. Her clothes shifted back to the same cargo pants and t-shirt she had been wearing before, stains and all. The blurriness faded. The sense of power wasn't gone but it was like she was dampening it, appearing more human. "Castiel. What have you done?"

The super-angel looked momentarily stumped. "I… fixed you," he said, tilting his head.

She shook her head. "I didn't want this, Cas. Not like this. Can't you see that?"

He continued to look puzzled. "You are whole now," he said carefully, as if trying to explain something very basic to her. The grace was still in his hand, trapped in a small crystal which he slipped into his pocket. "This is how you are truly meant to be. No binding. No grace. No collar. Just… freedom."

She stared at him incredulously, then turned and looked straight at the three hunters. "You should go now," she said. "Leave. Run."

"No," Castiel said, stepping forward. Unlike Eli he was radiating his power, showing it off; it pressed uncomfortably against the humans, like hot pins on the skin. "No, they cannot leave yet. Not until they bow down and profess their loyalty unto us, their Gods."

Everyone stared at him. Castiel's eyes were cold and unfathomable. Dean had the strangest feeling that he was about to explode like Raphael.

He blinked, squeezing his eyes shut for one brief moment, and when he opened them…

They were in Bobby's house.

"What the hell?" Dean spun around, watching Sam stumble to the wall and Bobby grip a table, looking disoriented. "What the hell just happened?"

"Apparently we still got one nuked-up angel on our side," Bobby said in a shaky voice. "Seems like she's our only hope of stopping this insanity. Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta go throw up."

* * *

"Why did you do that?" Castiel asked, frowning at the spot where the hunters had stood. "They have to profess their loyalty and love. They must _worship_ us, as Gods should be worshipped."

"Slow down, crazy, slow down," Eli said sharply. "They can worship you later." She jerked her head. "This place smells terrible. Let's get out of here."

"Wait," he said, and made a dismissive motion with his hand. Balthazar and Rachel were suddenly stretched out on the floor, breathing evenly, asleep. "They will wake soon," he said in a self-satisfied voice. "As I promised. The third Winchester is resting in Heaven, where he belongs. Despite everything, I am benevolent."

He looked at her with eyes too blue to be real, as if begging her to agree. Eli didn't break his gaze. She made a small motion, grasping the edge of his trench coat with her fingertips, and they vanished, leaving behind two sleeping angels, the empty jar of blood, a clean blade, and the splattered remains of Heaven's most powerful Archangel.

They reappeared in what seemed to be a barren field, the dirt under their feet a rich gold color. There was the impression of unreality, of softness, but it wasn't Heaven. It was a pocket dimension, curled inside reality so tightly that atoms couldn't enter it, wound inside the fabric of the universe. Small, and spherical, it had a blank sky and no stars, with a watered-down light that emanated from nowhere. It had no laws, or physics. It just was, briefly, and then it would fold over on itself and cease to exist.

"Why have you led us here?" Castiel asked, inspecting the reality with interest. "It's so… small. Unstable."

"We needed to talk, alone," she said. "At the present we're the only beings who can slide into our own dimension."

"Talk," Castiel said dryly, facing her. "Why do you insist on _talking_? It's so slow and cumbersome, unwieldy. Tongues and teeth and muscles. We are beyond that now. We already know everything that ever was and will be."

"Then tell me what I'm going to say," she said, softly. "Make my argument for me."

His eyes flared with that otherworldly light. "You disapprove what I have done to you. This I do not understand." He walked to her, trench coat lifting in a nonexistent breeze. "I _freed_ you," he stressed, taking her shoulders, but it was more than that. It was like he was taking hold of her soul, mixing it with his, until it was difficult to tell where she ended and he began. "This is who you are supposed to be. We've always known it. You wanted to be special? You _are_ special. I have given you everything you ever wanted."

"By making us Gods?" she asked, extricating herself from his embrace. Again, there was more going on under the surface as she wrenched her soul from him, an almost palpable rejection. "Where does that fit in to your idea of _freedom_? Making them worship us? Killing Raphael's followers? I thought we were supposed to be a Godless universe. I thought everyone was supposed to make their own choices?"

"There will be freedom," he rasped. "We will enforce it."

Eli moved closer to him. She could feel the destructive force of his power, barely contained within his skin. He had never looked less human; his visage had never seemed more like a mirage covering something too terrible to behold. Still, he was under there. She could feel the glow of his heart under the noise of all of those souls. "Enforced freedom isn't freedom at all," she said, wrapping her power around him, calming his noise.

"It is the only way they will accept it," he said stoically. "We must _make_ them accept it. For their own good."

"And why must you be their God?" she asked.

"Because I deserve it!" he suddenly snapped, his voice hoarse and somehow echoing. "I lost everything! I've had to kill my brothers, my sisters, my friends. I gave _everything_. And they all betrayed me, they didn't trust me. But I was right. God is _gone_. He is not coming back. He left me here alone and now I will do a better job! I will _never_ abandon my loyal friends!"

"Friends or followers?"

"It doesn't matter!" he spat crazily, his power surging to the surface, breaking down his human image. "They will love me!"

"You can't force someone to love you," she said, trying to stay reasonable.

"I can do anything!" he yelled in a voice loud enough to shake the foundations of the pocket universe.

She was losing him. Eli could see him breaking down under the pressure of his power, under the years of repressed loneliness and sadness and anger and hurt. She flung herself at him, arms around his shoulders, holding him into his shape.

He stopped, startled, then returned the hug, holding her tightly, his not-quite-human face buried in her hair. "We will fix this world," he murmured. "I will never lose you again. We can even bring back the other timeline, if you desire. We can shape reality to our will. We will fix everything."

"Cas," she sighed, holding him tighter, her power mingling with his. "My love. It's not broken."

He jerked away. "How can you say that?" he asked. "There is war… poverty… death… Heaven is in chaos, monsters roam the earth…"

"And we are free, to fight against it, or for it," she said. "But not to control it."

He pushed away from her. "You sound like Dean."

"Maybe Dean was right, in this case," she said, and he stiffened. "Maybe God was right, for that matter. Maybe He realized that He had to leave. Maybe chaos is the only answer."

"Dean was _not right_ ," he ground out. "Dean is weak. Why are you suddenly defending him?"

"Because he's your friend. Mine too."

"I have no friends," he said, harshly. "But I can make them. I can stop the madness. I can bring peace, joy- no. _We_ can bring peace. A world without pain." He brought his hand up to her temple, touching it lightly. His power pushed at her, testing her, as if seeking a weakness. "You can feel it too," he said, suddenly gentle. "The pain of so many souls on earth. Crying out. Weak, blind, powerless. Crying to their Gods. Crying to _us_. We can end their pain. Bring peace."

"Paradise," she said slowly. "You're talking about paradise. The very paradise we fought against when we stopped the apocalypse. Cas—"

" _Our_ paradise," he said urgently. "Eli, I can't—I can't take the pain. It's too much. I have to stop it. I have to bring order."

"Cas—" she tried again, but he was kissing her, one arm wrapped around her body, the other buried in her hair, drawing her to him.

It was more than just a kiss. He was reaching through their bond, pulling her into him, sinking desperate hands into her essence and dragging it into his. She felt his pain, and loneliness, like he was trying to make them one being, to bond her to him eternally. She struggled, breaking the kiss.

"Do not fight me, Eli," he rasped, turning her face to his again. "I need—"

The rest of his thought was cut off as he kissed her again, hungrily, like a drowning man fighting for air.

It was hard not to get swept up in it. His power was a clear counterpoint to hers, dark and wild while hers was cool and serene. It bit into her, all passion and pain, lusty, tempting. Eli found herself returning the kiss, her tongue and soul sliding into him, seeking out his very core. It was beyond sex. It was total absorption.

Suddenly, like a door had been opened, Eli saw her future: a long empty corridor of power and no real connection to anyone, anything besides him. Never a quiet moment in her head. No rest. No joyful days under the sun. No hard nights of crying in the bathroom. No hunts. No friends. No Sam and Dean, no Bobby. No parents. No excitement, or pain, or terror, or hope. Just serenity, her soul inextricably tied to Castiel, the knowledge of the whole universe running through her head.

"No," she gasped, as if coming up from dark water and finally breaking the surface. Her power flared, severing from his like a knife, leaving their souls bloodied. She stumbled away, disoriented. "No, Cas, not like this."

"Eli—" he started, reaching for her again.

"No!" she said, her power like a wall. Around them, the pocket universe was shrinking and expanding, shuddering under the pressure of the wild energy inside of it. "This is wrong, Cas! We're not meant to be Gods! You can't—you can't _bury_ yourself in me and think that will save you!"

"Do you remember what I said, back in Pompeii?" he asked, his body breaking down, revealing glimpses of a whirl of formless energy, his voice like the roar of a far-off hurricane. "The universe was a collective once. The angels stabilized each other. We were one. We can be that again. You and I."

"Why would you want that?" she shouted, pushing at him with her arms and her power. "No change, no individuality, no growth. Ruling the world as a false God, destroying everything you've worked for in your quest to be loved. Well suck it up, princess! Life hurts! But that's why it's life! Dean was right, you are a child!"

"What did you say?" he asked, and his voice sounded like the shrieks of ten million souls. The sky-less sky darkened. The world rippled.

"This is wrong, Castiel! What you are, what you're doing… look at you!" she begged. "It's eating you from the inside. It's killing your humanity. It's destroying you. Please, listen to me, as the one person you trust. As the person who loves you more than anything in the universe, _please_."

"And what if I don't?" the whirling, enraged form that had once been Castiel asked. "Will you fight me? Will you turn on me, as everyone else has?" He drew nearer to her and Eli found herself rising out of her physical form into something great and brilliant, energy as deep and vibrant as his. They met as Gods on the battlefield. "Is this my ultimatum? Stop or die? Stop or you'll have to destroy me?"

"No!" she screamed, a strange, clear sound, like a bell. In an instant she was human-shaped again and wrapped her arms around his formless mass, seeking out his soul one last time. "No matter what happens, no matter what you choose – I will _never_ abandon you." He quieted, the little universe suddenly silent, listening. "You could destroy the world. You could shut off the stars. But I will never fight you, or threaten to go. Do you hear me? I may be stupid, I may be wrong, but I will never leave you, because I love you too damn much."

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then his chaotic dark power shifted and condensed, and it was Castiel she was holding again, a trench coat pressed against her cheek. He was standing, shell-shocked, his arms straight by his sides.

"You're telling the truth," he said, his voice a familiar husky rasp, low and dazed. She held him tighter.

"I love you, Castiel," she sobbed into his coat. "You can't make me stop. I'm not running. I'm here."

"It's okay," he said softly, still sounding bemused. "Don't cry. Oh, Eli."

Castiel finally returned her embrace, kissing her forehead. Then he pressed something into her hand; Eli's fingers curled around it, a small shell of crystal, brimming with light. Her grace.

"To be loved," he said softly into her ear, his breath a mere whisper. "Is a rare and precious thing. It is—" His words caught in his throat. "It is worth fighting for." He drew a shuddering breath. "Oh Father, what have I done?"

"There's time," she said, looking at him and wanting to cry at the clear, sane blue of his eyes. "The eclipse—"

"Yes," he murmured. "We must return. We must… fix this." He squeezed his eyes shut, his brow deeply furrowed. "I am so sorry."

She left the grace in his palm and kissed him tenderly, hands cupping his face, feeling the familiar stubble under her fingertips. Everything was going to be okay.

And then…

"Well, now that that's all sorted out, how about you two stop making out like a couple of teenagers and tell me just exactly how you're going to clean up this epic fucking mess you've made?" a voice rang out. It was a voice that Eli never thought she would hear again, especially not in this fragile little pocket dimension.

They broke apart, staring at the newcomer in utter disbelief. "You," Castiel rasped.

"Me!" the interloper said brightly and with a hint of anger. "New and improved. Oh, Castiel. The New God, eh? Tsk tsk. Kids, you've got some serious 'splaining to do."

 


	22. It's the End of the World as We Know It (and I Feel Fine)

 

 

The two Gods stared, dumbstruck, at the apparition in front of them. "Is it really you?" Eli asked.

He preened and examined his fingernails. "In the flesh, baby. Miss me?"

Something tackled him at the speed of a train, sending him stumbling back. It took him a moment to realize that Eli was hugging him, burying her face in his shoulder.

"You asshole, why didn't you _tell_ us that you were alive!" she said. He laughed, lifting her and swinging her around like she wasn't one of the most powerful beings in the universe.

"Because I'm not. Well, not technically." He looked over her shoulder. "Hiya, Cas. Or should I say, _God_." The last word was dripping with sarcasm.

Castiel inclined his head, looking wary and not nearly as enthused as his mate. "Gabriel. You're… here."

"You always did have a way with words," Gabriel said, then coughed. "Hey Blondie, you have the power of the cosmos, remember? A guy's gotta breathe."

Eli released him and stepped back. "What's going on, Gabe?" she asked, suddenly nervous. "Why are you here? How are you here?"

"That's a good question," Gabriel said, glancing around. "One I'd rather mull over someplace less… unstable and creepy. I'm gonna vote we get back to reality right now. Then you two—" He pointed with both hands at the humbled Gods, his expression suddenly serious. "Are gonna get rid of that mojo you're packing, and we're all going to have a nice long chat. Okay? Okay."

"Gabriel…" Castiel started, but Gabriel shot him a sardonic glare.

"Orders are from the Big Man, Cas, and believe me, it ain't you." Castiel's face went a shade whiter. Gabriel beamed. "Now, let's blow this popsicle stand."

He winked and vanished. Castiel and Eli glanced at each other, then they vanished too and the pocket dimension destabilized, collapsing in on itself like it never was.

* * *

They arrived back in Crowley's empty lab. The moon was visible, a sliver of it still covered by the eclipse. No time had passed since they left.

Gabriel was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed. Castiel hesitated, suddenly nervous.

"I'm not sure…how to do this," he said awkwardly. "How can I just… let it all go?" He was wavering, the pull of power tugging at his mind. "All the good I could do…"

Eli touched his arm. "It's not for you to do," she said gently. "Let it go, Cas." He looked at her with terrified eyes. "I'm here," she said, not breaking his gaze. "I'll be right here the whole time."

He took a deep breath, and nodded.

"Move it along, asshat," Gabriel called irritably. "Tick tock."

Castiel shot him a glare before turning back to Eli. He took her hand in his, entwining their fingers, his hand shaking. She squeezed it reassuringly.

Castiel closed his eyes.

He held up his free hand, lifting his palm at a blank stretch of wall. The air shuddered and twisted and bent; the wall cracked, a thundering split, and a howling expanse of darkness was revealed, similar to the gate to hell. The heat was immense, burning their faces like a furnace.

Castiel's whole body began to glow, but he never let go of Eli's hand. His shape warped and grew, losing its physical integrity, touching on other dimensions and wrapped up in the fabric of space and time. Soon he was nothing but a shining gold light, formless and huge. The light swirled up, pulling into itself, and then shot with irrepressible speed into the void. As it passed through his form slowly shrank, becoming more familiar, until the light was gone and it was just Castiel.

The door crumpled and ceased to be. Castiel staggered forward and fell to his knees, breathing heavily, his eyes bloodshot.

Eli buckled over. His power had been holding her together and now that that was gone she could feel the universe pressing in on her, that awful pressure that wanted to crush her into nonbeing. Her eyes went totally green again, and she was floating, her hands and feet starting to disintegrate.

"The grace, you idiot!" Gabriel snapped at Castiel, the sound reaching Eli like she was underwater. Dimly she saw him fumble in his trench coat, and a moment later the grace was pressed in her rapidly-fading palm, cool and hard. She clenched her hand around it and threw it to the ground.

It shattered. Her grace rose up, infusing her body with its calming barriers, bringing her down. Invisible wings sprang from her back again. The horrible pressure stopped, and Eli felt her eyes clear and her skin reform.

Her feet touched the ground and she collapsed, half on top of Castiel. She gasped for breath; a giggle burst from her lips, then another, until she was nearly crying with frenzied laughter.

Both angels stared at her, pounding the ground with her fist, laughing so hard her whole body was shaking. Castiel looked blankly at Gabriel, who shrugged.

"Don't look at me. You're the one who bonded with her."

That sent her laughing even harder. "We… just… saved the world… from _ourselves_ ," she finally gasped, rolling onto her back and clutching her sides. "Holy _shit_ , my life…" She trailed off, laughing again.

"Hysterical laughter," Castiel finally diagnosed. "A nervous reaction to stress."

Gabriel started laughing a little too. Castiel cocked his head at him and Gabriel chuckled. "Come on, bro, it's contagious."

Castiel paused, then cracked a smile, his first real smile in a long time. "I am happy to be… me again," he admitted.

On the floor, Eli was finally calming down, her laughter slowing to hiccups and snorts. She sat up, holding her hands out in mock surrender. "I'm done, I'm done." She wiped tears from her eyes and accepted Castiel's hand, standing on still-shaky feet. "It has been a long, long couple of months."

"Amen to that," Gabriel said, pushing himself off the wall and nearly bouncing over to them. "So… chocolate party at my place?"

* * *

Gabriel's "place" seemed to be nothing more than a huge room filled with squashy couches and bean bag chairs, one over-large, pillow-covered bed, thick carpeting, and a ceiling-high chocolate fountain.

Gabriel flopped onto a small couch. "Sit down," he said, gesturing grandly. Plates of food appeared, most of it chocolate and chocolate-dipped fruit, and goblets of what looked like wine. "Eat, drink, be merry. You nearly ended the world, but didn't. That calls for a cookie."

"Who are you, Bacchus?" Eli asked, picking her way through the maze of food and sitting cross-legged on a comfy chair.

"Nope, but I did get some of my interior decorating tips from him," Gabriel said, winking. He glanced at Castiel, who was lingering near a bean bag chair. "Cas, sit."

"This does not look like a chair," he said, furrowing his brow at the bean bag. "It is essentially a large pillow. "

Eli let out a laugh and moved to a couch, patting the seat next to her. "Here, love." He walked carefully, stepping over a whole roast pig. When he finally sat she took his hand, lacing her fingers in his. "Never change."

The edge of his mouth curled into a smile. Gabriel let out a loud sigh.

"Yes, you're adorable. Can we continue?" he said, picking a chocolate-covered strawberry from a plate and popping it in his mouth.

Castiel immediately turned serious, staring hard at Gabriel as if trying to discern what exactly he was. "How are you alive?"

"Weeeeeeeeell," Gabriel said with his mouth full, drawing out the word to its full extent. "Thing is, I'm not really _alive_ , per se. I'm taking this form to chat with you, but then I'll, you know…" He waggled his fingers. "Ascend to a higher plane of existence."

"Meaning?" Castiel asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

"Meaning I'm on to bigger and better things, bro," Gabriel said. "I'm dead, sure. But that's just red tape. I'm the Big Kahuna's right hand man. It's pretty fuckin' sweet. Beyond time and space, I'm telling you."

"You work for God?" Eli asked, interested. Gabriel shrugged with faux modesty.

"Do His work, oversee projects, yadda yadda. I also sometimes speak for him, like now. Like the Metatron… before he retired to one of Jupiter's moons."

"Where is He?" Castiel asked, almost frantically. "Is He returning to Heaven?"

"Not just yet," Gabriel said, shaking his head. "You kids need to clean up your messes first. Which brings me to my angry face. See?" He pointed to himself and frowned deeply. "That's my angry face. I don't like using this face." He relaxed but didn't smile. "Cas, you screwed up, I'm not gonna lie."

Castiel bowed his head, ashamed.

"Oh, don't look like a kicked puppy," Gabriel continued. "You went too far, Cas, way too far. You too, Blondie," he said, shooting a look at her, and she flushed. "Don't think you're going to get away scot free. You and your little 'back up plan' are just as bad. Granted, you didn't go apeshit with power, so, you know, yay. That means you're almost a functional sentient being. Go you!"

"Gabriel…" Castiel said in a warning voice. Gabriel brushed him off.

"Cas, shove it. I have a right to be pissed. But you're lucky! You gave the power back, so Dad doesn't have to get involved personally. _That_ would be a bad day for everyone." He shook his head despairingly. "Man, Cas, you _know_ how He feels about false Gods. You called yourself the new God? _Really_? If He had half the wrath He used to you'd be a cinder on the floor right now."

"I know," Castiel said humbly. "It was wrong. I was…mad with power. It… won't happen again."

" _That's_ an understatement," Gabriel scoffed.

"What's up, Gabe?" Eli asked, popping a chocolate-covered grape into her mouth. "You just call us in here to ream us out?"

"Don't get snarky, baby doll," Gabriel warned. "I may be dead but I'm still all full o' wrath." She stared at him flatly. He sighed with great melodrama. _"But_ I do have other stuff to talk to you about. Mainly, what you're going to do next. Any ideas?"

Castiel and Eli glanced at each other. "Well…" Eli said hesitantly. "We're both angels again, and Heaven's a mess, so I guess… back in the fray?"

Castiel nodded. "It is the only choice." He didn't sound happy about it. Eli clenched his hand.

"Well, that's not really true," Gabriel mused. "There's another option. That's what I'm really here for. God wants you to do something for Him. Think of it as penance for all the shit you've pulled." He paused, then smiled. "Or, alternatively, as a Thank You."

"A Thank You?" Castiel rasped, looking at Gabriel curiously.

"For saving Heaven. And the world." Gabriel was suddenly thoughtful. "I don't approve your methods, of course. But Dad told me you'd get the job done." His gaze shifted to Eli. "And He told me that you'd be there to talk Cas down when it was all over. He was right, of course. Always is."

"So what's this option?" Eli asked, leaning forward.

Gabriel selected a goblet of wine from the floor and took a sip, reclining on his couch. "Despite what I said, this _is_ a choice," he stressed, wriggling around in an attempt to get more comfortable. "I mean, _I_ know that I'd like you to say yes, but it's up to you. Free will and all that."

"We understand," Castiel said gravely. "What are you trying to tell us, Gabriel?"

Gabriel took a gulp of wine. "Here's the thing," he said, throwing his legs over the side of the couch. "There will always be battles on a rather epic scale, and for that, there will always need to be special humans to fight those battles. Save the world and all that. For a long time, humanity had the Campbell line, culminating in good ol' Sam and Dean. But they're done. Sam and Dean ain't gonna have kids, and the rest of the family is pretty much wiped out. And the apocalypse and Eve took care of most of the other important hunter bloodlines. We're down to bare bones here."

Castiel looked confused. "What do we have to do with any of this?" he asked.

Gabriel let out a long breath. "Well, nothing, at the moment. You're angels. But Dad needs some humans on the ground, for all the future shit that's gonna come the earth's way. And He likes you, both of you. You're some of the ones He's most proud of, despite your fuckups. So he wants to offer you a choice.

"You can stay angels and clean up Heaven and do all that end-of-the-war stuff, or…" He paused, grinning, drawing the moment out. "You can agree to become human and start a new bloodline of chosen hunters."

Eli's breath caught in her throat. "Become human? Have a family?" she asked hoarsely. Castiel just sat, stunned, his eyes wide and unblinking.

Gabriel nodded. "Human," he repeated. "Really human." He looked at Eli seriously. "You'd have to give up your Nephilim heritage. It's humans we need. Special, strong ones who can help keep the earth balanced. Ya dig?"

Eli jerked her head a little. Castiel just continued to sit there, dazed.

"You'll be helped out, of course," Gabriel continued blithely. "I'm not just gonna drop you in the middle of nowhere with the clothes on your back. But after that…it's up to you."

"But…Heaven," Castiel finally croaked. Gabriel beamed.

"Glad you finally decided to join the conversation, bro! And yeah, Heaven's a big ol' mess. I'm not saying it's not. But it can sort itself out. Raphael is gone, and several of the strongest rebels you conveniently brought back to life. Let them handle it for one human lifetime. It's not that long, in Heaven's books."

"What do you mean, for one human lifetime?" Eli asked. "If we go human, then we can't go back… can we?"

Gabriel polished off his wine with a flourish. "Well, that's the icing on the cake," he said gleefully. "It could also be considered a 'Thank You' or a penance. After you live out your human lives, you don't get to rest peacefully in the afterlife. You turn right back into angels and keep Heaven in order. That's the deal."

"The family on earth…" Eli started.

"Will have the awesome luck of two very powerful angels watching their backs. And I think that eternity will look a lot less lonely and scary when you have a family to protect and watch grow, don't you?" He looked at Eli wisely.

Castiel looked troubled. "Become human?" he murmured.

"Temporarily," Gabriel pointed out.

"I don't know…" Castiel said, faltering. He looked at Eli, conflicted. "I don't know how to _be_ human. I've been an angel for thousands of years. It's what I am. I was nearly human once and it was… terrifying."

"Oh right, bro, because becoming something you're not for the greater good is soooo difficult," Gabriel snapped, with a pointed glance at Eli. "Now tell me, Cas, just how hard did you push that sigil? And what about the grace?"

"Shut it, Gabe," Eli warned.

"He's right," Castiel said quietly. "I am being selfish." He looked at Eli, his hand still laced in hers. "Whatever decision we make, we make together."

Eli leaned into him. "You would make a great dad," she said with the hint of a smile. He blinked.

"I had not even processed that part of the deal yet," he admitted.

"Don't act like you have to start popping out right away," Gabriel said, selecting a turkey leg from a platter and dipping it in the chocolate fountain. "Live your life! Do what you will. It'll happen, don't you worry. And it's not going to be a brood. Spoiler alert, but I'm thinking maybe… two, will do it."

"Two," Castiel said, dazed. "Two children."

Eli giggled suddenly, looking around. "What the ever-loving fuck is our life? Seriously, do you guys have any understanding of how crazy our existence is?"

Gabriel waved his chocolate-covered turkey leg at her. "Don't start laughing hysterically again, Blondie."

"I was normal up until a couple months ago," she said, grinning. "This is not exactly where I expected my life to go when I met a crazy man on a park bench and he told me I had a destiny and that I had to remember another timeline."

Castiel looked pensive. "That was how the story began," he said, tipping his head at her, his eyes clear and serious. "Now how is it going to end?"

"Kids, really," Gabriel said, shaking his head. "A funky little Asian chick once told me that nothing ever ends. Not really."

Eli and Castiel stared at each other for a long moment, undecided. "I…" Eli started.

A throat cleared. Eli looked up; a girl was standing there, hands on her hips. She looked about fifteen, skinny as a rail, with long dark hair, a Romanesque profile, and Gabriel's brown-gold eyes. She was wearing, incongruously, a toga-like dress and high-top sneakers.

"How long is this gonna drag out?" she asked Gabriel, tapping her foot. "Boss Man says we've got to be on Andromeda in like, five minutes."

"Calm down, 'Liana, if we're late we can always turn back time," Gabriel said with a shrug.

She tossed her hair. "I'll hold you to that."

He stuck his tongue out. "Brat."

The girl laughed. "Okay, Dad." She smirked at the two stunned angels. "Cas, Eli. Good job not breaking the world. Gotta go."

She vanished as quickly as she arrived. Gabriel turned back to them as if nothing strange had happened.

"Now!" he said, clapping his hands together. "Moment of truth, and hurry it up, I've got a very busy afterlife, you know. Angel or human. What's it gonna be?"

* * *

The mood at Bobby's house had dimmed from full-fledged panic into the beginnings of drunkenness and melancholy.

"So… what are we waiting for?" Sam asked, stretching out on the couch, a beer in his hand. "Lightning strike? Hand of God kind of thing?"

"Nah," Bobby said glumly, propping his feet up on his desk. "I'm betting our new God will wanna do it himself. Real personal like. He did seem to like that idea of _bowing down_."

"Well we better practice, 'cause unless Eli can talk some sense into him…" Sam said.

"Yeah, well, let's hope she hasn't jumped on the power-crazy bandwagon too," Bobby said cynically. He took a pull on his beer. "How you feelin', by the way?"

Sam shrugged. "Surprisingly good. Some painful memories, but nothing as bad as I thought it would be. It's almost like…like maybe I'm not remembering the whole thing? Or maybe they just took it easy on me in the Pit, who knows."

"Or maybe Cas didn't break the barrier as much as he claimed he did," Bobby said wisely. "Anyway, best to not think about it."

"Yeah," Sam agreed quietly.

Bobby finished his beer and opened another. "I blame Dean for all of this, by the way," he added, shooting a look at the sulking figure in the corner.

"Hey!" Dean said, sitting up. His hands and shirt were still covered in axle grease from working on the Impala, which was laid out in the scrapyard, battered but fixable.

"I mean it," Bobby growled, glaring at Dean from under the rim of his old ball cap. "If you hadn't been pushin' that angel away for the past couple months, maybe he wouldn't have gone all wrathful God on us."

"You're blaming me for this?" Dean asked incredulously. " _Me_?"

"He kind of has a point, Dean," Sam said. "You've been a dick to him for months." Dean swung his glare and Sam held up his hands. "I have been too. Neither of us trusted him to do anything, but when we needed him he was always there. We fucked up man, you know it."

Dean huffed a sigh. "So I was a dick. I admit it, okay? But I didn't cause that apocalyptic freakout. That was all Cas. No one made him go power mad."

"I'm just sayin' maybe he _wouldn't_ have gone power mad if—" Bobby started.

"Yeah, yeah, you're just sayin'," Dean grumbled, settling deeper into his chair and pouring some more whisky. "For all we know, he won't even come back here. Him and Eli are probably in like, another solar system by now."

Everyone made unintelligible noises of consent and kept drinking.

The doorbell rang.

"Sam," Dean ordered. Sam stared at him. Dean jerked his head to the other room. "Door. Answer it."

"Why don't you answer it?" Sam asked belligerently.

"Because that's your job, bitch."

"Jerk."

The doorbell rang again.

"Will somebody answer the damn door?" Bobby snapped.

Sam sighed and hauled himself off of the couch. "I'm going, I'm going."

He ambled to the door and pulled it open; the bright sunlight blinded him and he blinked, unable to focus on the two figures standing at the threshold.

"Hello, Sam."

 


	23. Someplace Like Home

 

 

Sam shook his head at the sound of Castiel's voice, focused, and immediately jumped back. "Holy _shit_ ," he cursed, holding out his bare hands as if to ward them off. "You're…you're … what are you doing here?" He paused, confused. "Why did you ring the doorbell?" He paused again and looked past them at the beat-up car in the driveway. "Did you _drive_ here?"

Dean and Bobby had finally made their way from the other room. "Uh, hey, Cas, Eli," Dean said in his 'walking on eggshells' voice, his shoulders tense. "What's, ah…what's up?"

"Come to make us pledge our allegiance?" Bobby asked dryly.

"Guys, look at them," Sam hissed. "I don't think…"

The rest of his words died away as they all studied the nervous couple on the porch. Something was wrong.

Oddly enough, Dean noticed the car in the background first, because it was a dusty red 69 Impala convertible. Then his eyes swung to the fact that Castiel was wearing rather crumpled tan pants and a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, no tie. He was standing awkwardly, as if he didn't know how to hold himself. Day-old stubble covered his jaw.

Eli had on jeans and a tank top with old sneakers, her hair in braided pigtails, a military rucksack draped around one shoulder: the usual. But there was a gun at her waist and something very solid in the way that she held herself, like she was bracing for a punch. They were both squinting in the sunlight, and Dean could see the beginnings of a sunburn flushing across their cheekbones.

Eli shifted, dropping her bag. "Can we come in?"

"What…what is this?" Bobby finally asked in a choked voice. "Are you…"

"Is this a trick?" Dean asked, scrutinizing them. Eli shook her head fiercely. Dean faltered. "Are you…are you _human_? I mean, I'm assuming you're not Gods anymore... right?"

"Not Gods," Castiel confirmed in an apologetic voice. "That was a… mistake."

"You can say that again," Dean scoffed.

Castiel tipped his head. "I do not see how repeating myself will bring clarity to the statement."

"Can we come in?" Eli asked again, a little annoyed. Dean and Sam stepped back to let them pass.

Bobby gripped Eli's arm. "You're solid," he said, sounding surprised. "You're really human?"

Eli smiled at him. "Really really."

In an instant she was pulled into a tight hug. "Thank God," Bobby said softly, closing his eyes to keep his emotions at bay. Eli hugged him back, smiling, tears in her eyes.

"But…how?" Sam asked.

"We were offered a choice," Castiel said, his voice the same low rasp it had always been. "A chance to redeem some of the mistakes we've made, and…perhaps be happy, as well."

Eli pulled away from Bobby and rubbed her eyes. "It was Gabriel," she said, sniffling, a smile still on her face.

"He's alive?" Dean exclaimed. She shook her head.

"Not exactly. But he's sort of… God's spokesperson."

"And he forced you to give up the power," Sam said.

"So you're just here because you lost your juice," Dean said, almost smugly. Eli punched him in the arm, hard. "Ow!"

"We returned the power of our own volition," Castiel said, with the hint of a righteous glare. "He appeared after, to offer us a…" He hesitated, unsure of what to call their strange circumstances. "A chance at a new life."

"We're human now, for good," Eli chirped, returning to Castiel and wrapping an arm around his waist. "Well, at least until we die someday. It's a long story."

"You better tell us all about it," Bobby said, nodding to the other room. "Come on, I got beer, and I suppose we best be celebratin'." He walked away, muttering to himself but sounding pleased.

Eli grabbed Dean's arm. "Dean, Sam, wait."

The brothers turned. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth about why I was sick," she said softly. "I couldn't risk anyone finding out, but… I am sorry for lying."

"It's okay, Eli," Sam said, giving her a one-armed hug. "We all did stuff we're not proud of. It's done now."

Eli nodded, and nudged Castiel. He cleared his throat, looking awkward. "I…I just wanted to say…" He looked at Eli almost pleadingly and she nodded at him. "I…I'm sorry for thinking I was God and…and trying to force you to worship me," he stuttered, a faint blush rising on his cheeks. He looked at the ground. "I'm sorry. I was wrong."

There was silence for a moment, then Dean clapped Castiel a little too hard on the shoulder. "Apology accepted," he said with forced cheerfulness. "Just don't do it again. We done here? Okay." He turned as if to walk away.

"Dean…" Sam started.

Dean stopped. "What?" he asked with a trace of belligerence.

"Don't you have something to say to Cas?" Eli asked frostily. Dean paused, turning back to the former angel with something approaching shame.

"I…ah…yeah, I guess, um…" He floundered. "It's good to have you back, man." Eli glared at him and he sighed. "And I suppose…I suppose I haven't been treating you all that great these past couple months. And I'm, uh…I guess I'm sorry." Eli opened her mouth angrily and Dean held up his hands. "Am sorry, I am sorry! I've been a dick, Cas, and I know it. I can see why you didn't trust me to talk you out of the whole God-mode thing. I haven't been, you know, acting very brotherly to you. But that's over now. We're family. Right?"

Castiel nodded, a smile curling the edge of his mouth. "Yes, Dean. I believe we are."

"Great. Good. Everybody happy? We done? I need some damn beer." He stomped away.

Sam smiled at them. "I'm sorry too, guys," he said. "For…"

"Ah shut it, Sam, and let's go drink some beer," Eli said, grabbing his hand and tugging him along behind her.

* * *

"So let me get this straight. Gabriel told you that what God wanted was for you two to…become human and start poppin' out babies?" Bobby asked incredulously half an hour later.

"Sounds weirder when you say it like that, but yeah," Eli said, shrugging. "And it's not _popping out_. I'm not a baby farm. We're just going to have a family. Eventually."

"Fuckin' weird," Dean announced, but he was smiling. "Gabe reappears for _that_? How do you know it's not all a trick?"

"It's not," Castiel said. "My brother may like his games, but he was deathly serious about this."

"Plus he's, you know, dead," Eli added.

"But what are you going to do?" Sam asked, leaning forward, his chin propped on the back of a chair. "How are you going to live?"

"Yeah, not to be rude, but ya'll don't have many skills that don't include killin' things," Bobby drawled.

"Well, he already gave us the car," Eli said, rummaging in her bag. "Thank God I was able to talk him out of giving us the Pussy Wagon. And there is this." She pulled out an envelope. "Gabe gave me it, said it was to help get us started."

"What is it?" Dean asked, curious. Eli shrugged.

"Dunno. Haven't opened it yet." She paused, then ripped it down the side and dumped the contents in her hand.

There was a letter and a key. Eli read the letter quickly to herself, smiled, then picked up the key and peered at it.

"It's to a safety deposit box at the local bank," she announced, tucking the letter into her jacket. "Anyone up for a little trip?"

* * *

The safety deposit box turned out to contain a battered shoebox, which Eli carried to a park bench outside of the bank.

"Let's see what we have here," she said gleefully, sitting down next to Sam and across from Castiel, Bobby and Dean peering over her shoulder with interest. She gently pried the top off of the shoebox and looked inside. "Oh, _sweet_ ," she said, pulling several papers out. "A birth certificate for Castiel – last name of Angel, we don't _ever_ have to use that – and a social security card, too. Plus a couple credit cards linked to a bank account here…" She pulled out a paper and whistled. "Not bad." She glanced at a scribble on the bottom of the page. "'For house repairs?'" she quoted, handing the paper to Castiel. "What…oh. Look, a deed." She pulled it out and studied it. "A house only a couple of miles from here."

"Jesus, we saved the world and didn't get squat," Dean muttered, checking out the credit card. "Money and a house? Lucky bastards. He didn't even fix my car."

"Really think about it, Dean," Eli said, glancing at him wryly. "Would you have _wanted_ the Trickster to fix your baby?"

Dean paused. "Point taken."

"Let me see that," Bobby said, taking the deed and studying it. "I know the place, but that's no house. It's an old abandoned bar. Piece of crap, but the structure's sturdy enough. I thought no one was ever gonna move in there."

Castiel put the deed down and pulled the shoe box over, sifting through it as if searching for something. A moment later he pulled out a letter addressed to him. He read it silently, then searched the box until he found a smaller package and slipped it in his pants pocket. No one noticed.

"A bar, huh?" Eli mused, then glanced at them. "Another road trip?"

* * *

The old bar was run down and dirty, the upper windows broken, the lower ones boarded up. Eli used her key to get in and the five humans paced the house, checking out the three bedrooms, two bathrooms and small kitchen upstairs, and the large open bar area downstairs.

"You know, this has potential," Dean mused, running his finger along the dark wood of the bar, clouds of dirt rising up. Behind it, the long mirror was still intact, reflecting the late afternoon light and floating dust motes. "Bar's nice and solid, good space. Place isn't about to fall down. Just some cleaning, a paint job, new windows…" He trailed off. "It…it _feels_ right, doesn't it? Safe."

"Guys, check this out," Sam said, crouching by the door. He traced a bumpy line in the ground. "I think there's salt in the foundations."

"Piping and fixtures are all iron," Bobby said. "And there's salt embedded in the window panes too."

"Look up," Castiel intoned, and they all looked skyward. The whole ceiling was a large devil's trap.

"You think Gabriel did this?" Sam asked. Eli snorted.

"I'll bet. As a subtle hint. Figures he wouldn't actually clean the place for us."

"Subtle hint?" Castiel asked, wrinkling his brow. Everyone looked at Eli as she surveyed the room.

"Well, we need a job that can keep us in one place long enough to have a family, but will also expose our kids to hunting," she said slowly, working out the details in her mind. "Guys, I think it's about time we opened a new Roadhouse."

* * *

It was still relatively early in the morning, even though the day felt like it should already be over. The day was clear and bright, the sun a hazy smudge over the eastern sky, and the air smelled green like spring.

The five clustered around the two cars, Eli and Sam perched on their respective hoods, the others leaning against the sides or standing with a relaxed slouch. They all stared at the hulking building, Cas and Eli's soon-to-be-home, with the sort of dazed contentment of someone who woke up to find a long war had ended in the night.

"A new Roadhouse, huh," Bobby said, squinting at the boarded and broken windows. "Needs a lot of work."

"We can work," Eli said, smiling.

"Needs a lot of love."

"Have that in spades," she said. "And friends that can wield hammers and paintbrushes."

"You're commandeering us in to work?" Dean asked incredulously. Eli laughed.

"Free drinks for life," she said in a sing-song voice.

Dean smiled, the first real smile she had seen from him in a long time. "Well then, hand me a paintbrush and point me in the right direction."

"Feels like we've done this before," Sam said pensively.

"World nearly ends a lot these days," Bobby agreed.

"So is this the part where I ask what's going to happen next?" Dean asked, leaning against Bobby's run down car, the metal already heating up in the sun.

"I suppose the next step is…to get married," Castiel said, glancing at Eli. She raised an eyebrow.

"Was that a proposal?"

"Dude, worst proposal ever," Dean muttered.

Castiel tilted his head, still angelically bewildered despite his humanity. "I know there is a social custom of ritualized asking, but we are already married on the astral plane."

For some reason that sent everyone laughing, even Eli. Castiel just looked around. "I didn't say that comically!" he insisted, which made everyone laughed harder, the kind of irrepressible laughter that comes from months of oppressive stress and anger being lifted.

Eli hopped off the car and threw her arms around him, kissing the frown from his face. "Never change," she said, still giggling.

He surprised her by pulling a small box from his pocket and catching her hand. "I found this in Gabriel's shoebox," he said softly, flipping it open with one hand. "It seemed appropriate."

Eli's eyes widened as he pulled it out. "Is that…" she started.

"It's stone cut from a mural in Pompeii, from 10 BC," he said, sliding the ring on her finger. "How he knew we spent time there I don't know."

"You were in Pompeii?" Dean asked loudly, but they ignored him.

Castiel leaned down to her ear. "Our first kiss in this timeline," he murmured, so softly that only she could hear. "Do you remember?"

Eli grinned, her vision suddenly blurry and wet. "Of course I do."

He seemed suddenly nervous. "So…will you…" he rasped throatily, his fingers still on the ring around her finger.

She kissed him, hard, her arms around his neck. "Of course I'll marry you," she said, laughing with joy. He caught her mouth with his, drawing the kiss out until it became awkward enough that Bobby cleared his throat loudly. Eli pulled away. "I'll have to tell my parents. We'll visit, I guess. I doubt my dad will want to kill you when he sees that you bleed now." She beamed at him, though he looked suddenly nervous. "Oh, and you're taking my name. I refuse to walk around with the last name 'Angel.'"

"Castiel Grant," Sam said musingly. "I like it."

"Yeah, doesn't sound totally douchy," Dean agreed. He perked up. "Hey, you should name one of your kids after me."

Eli attempted to step away from Castiel but he just held her tighter, so she settled for turning in his arms so that her back was to his chest, his hands on her hips. "Yeah, sure Dean. We're really gonna name one of our kids after you." She rolled her eyes, grinning, giddy.

"Well, you might change your mind," Dean said huffily. "Just think about it."

"We've got years to think about it," Eli said. "But the answer will still be no."

"So this is how it ends," Bobby said, with a rare smile. "We're all together and the world's still here. I guess there's a first time for everything."

"Nothing ever ends," Castiel rasped. "Not really. This is a beginning. A good beginning."

"A good beginning to a great life," Eli agreed, leaning back in his arms and surveying the ramshackle building that would become their new home. "And I feel fine."

 


	24. Afterword: The Life

 

 

Luke Preston was having a shitty week.

Not only was he stuck driving across country for weeks for some stupid "Small Towns of America" coffee-table book (and next year's 2017 calendar, for people who preferred to look at broken down barns instead of dogs dressed as people or babies dressed as animals). Not only was his photojournalism career going nowhere fast. Not only had his girlfriend just broken up with him because apparently he had some _unresolved issues to work through_. No, the tip of the shit-iceberg that was his life, was that now he was stuck in some backwater town in South Dakota, his whole crew vomiting from both ends due to bad shellfish the night before.

Luke was a vegetarian, so he had escaped that fate. Leaving his crew hugging their toilet bowls, he drove aimlessly, with the vague hope of finding a bar.

The town was small, with a crappy main street strip with motels and greasy diners and dime stores and Laundromats, with a few smoky, neon-lit bars in between. He drove on, to the fringes and out of town, into the countryside. It was flat and vast, dotted by farms and old houses, many with rusting farm equipment and wheel-less cars in the scrubby front yards. He passed some shitty salvage yard, filled to the brim with derelict vehicles; he rolled his eyes and wished, suddenly, that he still smoked, just for something to do.

Then, just when he was about to turn around and slink to a liquor store and back to the dirty walls of his motel room, he spotted the bar.

It looked old, but inviting, with a wrap-around porch and brick siding, the upstairs windows covered neatly by curtains, and clearly someone's home. The downstairs looked ancient and rougher, the windows a little smoke-stained, the horseshoe over the door lending an old-fashioned touch. A sign swung gently in the breeze: "The Grant Roadhouse." _Perfect._

He pulled in, noting absently that the other vehicles in the lot were banged-up trucks and old muscle cars. His rented Honda stuck out like a sore thumb.

When he went inside, he realized that he stuck out like a sore thumb, too.

It was mostly empty, the late afternoon light warm and honey-colored, filtering through the tall windows, which Luke suddenly realized were inscribed with strange, circular symbols. The bar was of polished wood the color of rich chocolate, with a full panel of mirrors behind it, but no bartender. There were few patrons inside, some huddled together over a far table, several laughing loudly at the end of the bar, and several lounging and playing pool. They were, almost uniformly, big and tough and often tattooed, guns sticking casually out of their belts, clad in leather and denim, the few woman pretty but lean and somehow intimidating. Some song by Kansas was playing dimly on an old jukebox.

Everything stopped as he walked in. Luke felt suddenly awkward in his turtleneck and neatly-trimmed hair, his fingernails immaculate, his face clean-shaven. He was tall and lanky and well-kept, thin, his small glasses lending a slightly superior, bookish air to his face. The patrons stared, sneering, as if he had walked in on a private club meeting. After a long moment they turned their back on him and resumed speaking, ignoring him completely.

"All right, lazy asses, I've got your hot wings, beer, a Jameson and Guinness for Mr. Moneybags here, and a job. It's in Iowa and looks like there might be a reward, so eat up and get your asses on the road," said a bright, strangely familiar voice. Luke turned.

A woman was shouldering her was through the swinging doors behind the bar. She was balancing two plates of wings and a tray of drinks, a file folder under her arm. Expertly she served the men at the bar and dropped the file in front of them in one smooth motion, her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail with a fringe of bangs across her forehead, her freckles bright in the afternoon light. She was wearing a black tank top and jeans, and looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties. Some kind of tattoo peeked from behind her top at the edge of her shoulder blades, and a visible scar stretched diagonal from her collarbone and disappeared into her shirt, and another ran from her temple down past her ear to her jaw.

"Holy shit," he said aloud, the sound weirdly discordant in the bar. "Eli Grant?"

Everyone went silent again, watching him. The woman turned, and he knew for a fact it was her when he saw her green eyes.

"Yo, Eli, you know this guy?" one of the men at the bar asked, half-standing. Eli waved at him to sit down.

"Luke Polinsky," she said, her face breaking into a smile. "Fuck damn. I never thought I'd see your face again."

She came out from behind the bar and gave him a big hug, just as she always did, standing on her tip-toes and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. It was brief, but genuine.

"It's Preston now, actually," he said, following dumbly behind her as she slipped back behind the bar. He wanted to smack himself in the forehead after he said it, because it was such a stupid little thing to point out. She glanced at him as she poured a drink.

"Pen name?"

He shrugged. "Kinda." He thought that Preston was a strong name, a name that readers would trust. Polinsky was the kid that got beat up in playgrounds.

She raised an eyebrow. "Huh." She put the drink down in front of him. "Scotch and soda, right? I remember."

"Yeah, thanks." He sipped it. It was good.

"So what are you doing in South Dakota?" she asked, pouring herself a Coke.

"I'm a photojournalist," he said, tracing the condensation on his glass. "Or trying to be. Got a job doing this "Small Town of America" coffee-table book. It's gonna be a calendar too."

"Oh," she said, pouring another beer and sliding it to one of the men at the far end. "That's cool."

He shrugged. "It's shit, honestly. Just hoping to get the good jobs, eventually. You know, get sent oversees, see some action."

"Living the dream," she said, smiling. "Good for you."

There was a pause. "I, uh…I didn't know what happened to you. You never…you never called, or anything. It's been, what, seven years? You just vanished."

Eli was suddenly very intent on wiping the bar. "Yeah, I had to leave pretty fast. I'm sorry I never contacted you…or anyone…"

"I even called your parents," he said, sounding a little petulant. "To make sure you weren't dead in a ditch somewhere. They were weird about it. Said you were fine, but wouldn't give me any info."

"Well, it's not like we were dating anymore," she said awkwardly. "We hadn't spoken in a while. I didn't think…"

The door burst open. "I swear ta'god you break your leg once and it's like you're everyone's research bitch," a male voice said. The man wobbled on crutches to the bar, balancing a laptop under his arm, his whole left leg swathed in a cast. He sat down heavily two seats down from Luke and propped his crutches against the bar. "Eli, I don't know how you're gonna manage staying behind for the next five months. It blows." He glanced over at Luke, apparently noticing him for the first time. "Hey."

"Dean, this is Luke Pol—Preston," she said, pouring him a beer and sliding it over. "Luke, Dean Winchester."

"Hi," Luke said, giving him a once-over. He was almost ridiculously attractive, with a strong jaw, full lips, and long lashes, his short hair fashionably messy. He was wearing a black t-shirt with some kind of pendant necklace over it, and with the exception of the cast was in very good shape.

"Dude," Dean said. "Stop checking me out."

"I…I wasn't…" Luke stuttered, then blurted: "We used to date." Dean just stared at him blankly. "Eli and I," he clarified.

"A million years ago," she said, scowling at him. "We were what, twenty-three?"

"Twenty-five," Luke said, hurt.

"You dated this guy?" Dean asked, clearly unimpressed. Eli shrugged.

"It was…before. You know. Old me."

Luke didn't know what that meant.

Dean laughed and shook his head. "Fuck, I forget that you lived normal this time around. Eli the good little student. Weird. Does Cas know about Metrosexual here?" He jerked his thumb at Luke derisively.

She glowered. "That part of my life is none of your business. None of Cas' either, for that matter."

"Cas?" Luke asked tentatively.

Dean smirked. "Her husband."

Luke's eyes flickered to the ring on Eli's left hand. It was made of some kind of stone, and didn't look like a wedding ring. "Oh, so you two aren't…" he stuttered, glancing between them.

Eli grinned. "He's my brother-in-law, if you must know."

"Aw, I feel all warm and tingly inside," Dean said, with equal parts sarcasm and genuine pleasure. His phone rang, a tinny version of a classic rock song. Dean answered it, spinning so that his back was to Luke, as if needing some semblance of privacy.

"Hey Sammy," he said, opening his laptop and typing something rapidly. "Yeah, I got it. You're gonna be looking for a bell. Copper." A pause. "I don't fucking know how big, a bell, it's on him so I'm assuming not the Liberty Bell." Another pause. "Whatever, bitch. Okay, so you get the bell from him, you ring it, and the tether is broken. But that's gonna mean you got a wild Wendigo on your hands and a pissed off vamp to boot. Yeah. Well what—"

"Luke."

He looked at Eli guiltily. She raised an eyebrow at him, but merely said: "You want another scotch and soda?"

He leaned forward, speaking in a hushed voice. "Eli, what the hell is going on?"

She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"What happened to you? We had the same classes in school—you were gonna travel the world, make a name for yourself, make a difference. And then you _vanish_ , literally without a trace, because I looked, Eli, I fucking looked for you, and you were _gone_ , just months away from getting your Masters. And then, after seven years, I find you here, in some shithole bumfuck po-dunk backwoods nowhere town in South Dakota, bartending to biker gangs and _married_ and with scars and tattoos and…what the hell happened to you, Eli?"

"I'm the owner," she said in a quiet, dangerous voice.

Luke faltered. "What?"

She stared at him coldly. "I'm not just the bartender, Luke. I own the place. Look at the sign out front. This is my bar. Mine and my husband's."

"Oh," Luke said. "I didn't…what I meant was…"

"I know exactly what you meant," she said flatly. "And here's what I'm going to say, Luke _Preston_. You don't know me. I'd go so far as to say you never knew me. You walk into my bar after seven years and proceed to insult my career choices and my life. I'm sorry I walked out without informing anyone, but something huge happened to me and I had to leave. I had to. I'd go so far as to say it was my destiny. And I am happy, Luke, I am really fucking happy. So you can think what you want, and continue with your own life choices, but don't you dare pretend to think you know what's best for me."

Dean spun around and covered his phone with his hand just long enough to say: "Fucking _owned_ , dude," before turning back to his muttered conversation.

Luke worked his jaw for a moment. "I'm…I'm sorry."

Dean turned around one last time and covered his phone. "Oh and apologize twice." He nodded at Eli. "She's pregnant, you dick." He resumed his conversation.

Luke looked at Eli, then at her stomach. He had dismissed the small bump as weight gain, but now that he really looked, it was obviously something else.

"You're…" he started, his throat dry. She nodded.

"Four months."

"Uh, congratulations," he said. "Where's your husband?"

"He's out hunting," she said, casually. "Big game."

"Bear?"

"Something like that."

"He'll be back soon?"

"I don't know." She shrugged. "It's a big hunt. Been gone for two weeks."

"Ah," Luke said, feeling more foolish by the moment. He stood. "I should go."

Eli immediately looked abashed. "No, sit, we'll talk. I'll get you a drink on the house. It's been too long."

"No, I—I should go," he said awkwardly, dropping money on the bar. "I'll-see you around, Eli."

She watched him go with a frown on her face.

* * *

Luke drove to a Chinese restaurant and brought the lukewarm lo mein back to his motel room. He ate it sitting cross-legged on his bed, dipping the chopsticks into the square white box and transferring it directly to his mouth.

What the fuck had just happened? It was all starting to feel like a bizarre dream. The girl he used to date ( _why had they broken up again? Something about him wanting to hook up with someone else, maybe, and there was a fight?)_ who mysteriously vanished seven years ago, turning up again in this backwoods town he happened to be passing through. She was married, and _pregnant,_ and now some kind of redneck, apparently. She ran a bar, for God's sake. A tough-guy bar. Her husband hunted bear and left her alone running a bar while pregnant. He wondered what her husband looked like. Cas. Weird name. Probably thick-necked and tattooed. Weird.

She had always been such a good girl. Fun and bright, maybe liked her guns a little too much, but good. Kind. Great in the sack. Huge imagination, vivid dreams; she would tell him these crazy stories that sounded more like acid trips than dreams. She was silly, like she never really grew up, but at times grave and serious and almost wise. It had freaked him out, that dichotomy. It had made him fuck it all up. It had made him run.

He dwelled on that for a while, remembering all of the good times they had, and the bad ones too, the screaming fights, the tears. She had yelled at him when she found out he cheated, thrown a plate at his head; he remembered ducking at the last minute, how it shattered against the wall. She had told him that he was scared, and taking the easy way out. She had been right.

Somehow they had eased back into being acquaintances after that. Never really friends, but they were in each other's lives enough for him to regret.

His mind wandered back to the bar. There was something off about it. The huge mural on the ceiling that looked vaguely satanic, for example, and the symbols on the windows, and the clientele. He thought about that guy, Dean Whatever, the male model 'brother in law' who spoke in some kind of cryptic slang to…who? His dealer? Gangmate? Lover? He used words like "wendigo" and "vamp" and talked about something with a bell. What did it all mean?

Something was wrong here. And he wouldn't be an intrepid journalist if he didn't follow up with his hunch.

* * *

Luke returned to the bar that night, just after closing. Parking his car down the street, he walked in the dark with his camera bag slung over his shoulder, to the side window and peered in.

The lights were still on; she was wiping down tables with a rag, and looked tired even as she smiled. That Dean guy was still there, fiddling with his laptop, his cast-covered broken leg sticking out at an awkward angle. He said something and she laughed, the sound floating through the screened window, but it seemed tense. Then she glanced at the clock.

It was almost like they were waiting for something.

Luke shifted in the darkness. He was starting to feel guilty. Here he was, spying on his ex-girlfriend of years past, for what? Because he didn't approve of her new life? It was bizarre. He should just go knock on the door and talk to her, one-on-one, tell her he wanted to be her friend and that he had no right looking down on her choices.

He had just decided to do that when a car pulled loudly in front of the building. A second later the bar door flew open.

"We need bandages and stitches," yelled an unfamiliar male voice.

"Clear a table, ya idjits," another voice snapped in a crabby Midwestern drawl. Then: "Put him down nice and easy, Sam."

Luke peered through the window.

Three men had entered the bar, two of them supporting the third, who was stumbling, his shirt open and head down. Blood was dripping onto the floor. They eased him onto one of the empty tables; now Luke could see clearly that his chest was slashed, four long ragged cuts that looked like claw marks. He was breathing shakily, his face ash white.

Eli grabbed a case from behind the bar and was immediately by the man's side. "Get something under his head," she said to the one man. ( _Freakishly tall,_ Luke noted. _Good-looking. Flannel shirt rolled up at the sleeves. The husband?)_ He nodded and pulled over a bag, tugging an old sweater out and balling it up, tucking it behind the wounded man's head.

Eli inspected his wounds as the third man began to speak. He was much older, with a full beard and a dirty baseball cap on his head, his clothing beat up and bloody, though he didn't appear to be injured. "It's nothin' life threatening," he said. "Not deep enough to pierce a lung or hit an organ, thank God. It's just gonna be a nasty scar."

She nodded, pulling a bottle of liquid and a bottle of pills out of the case next to her. "How did it happen?" Her voice was factual, but Luke noted that her free hand paused to gently stroke the injured man's hair. It was brief, but surprisingly intimate. For the first time, Luke looked at the injured man, noting his tousled black hair, hint of stubble, blue eyes, full mouth. _Jesus, does she just hang around with hot guys or something?_ He felt fairly sure that the injured man was the mysterious _Cas_ , the husband. _Why do I care so much?_

And more to the point, what the fuck was going on?

"Wendigo," the tall one said, pacing restlessly. The man with the broken leg, Dean, was hobbling over to the scene, watching with enough calm to suggest that this was a normal occurrence. "It was just like Dean said. The vamp had used this bell-spell to tether a wendigo, made it do his bidding. We were able to get the bell and destroy it, but not before it nailed Cas."

"He was great though," the older man said. "Brave. You'dve been proud of him. Volunteered to distract the thing while we got the bell from the vamp. Put up a hell of a fight."

"I'm always proud of him, Bobby," she said, gripping his shoulder. She opened the bottle of pills and tipped several into her hand. "Can you swallow these dry?" The man nodded and she placed them in his mouth. "They'll take a couple minutes to sink in. Now, this is gonna hurt, love." She poured the liquid on his wounds. He breathed in sharply, clenching his teeth, but beyond that made no other sound. Eli kissed his mouth. "I'm gonna start the stitches now, okay?" He nodded, and she pulled a length of fine thread from her bag. "So what happened next?"

"The wendigo went nuts when the tether was broken," the tall one continued. "Turned on the vamp. Just tore into him."

"And then?"

He shrugged. "We let them go at it. Got a chance to kill the wendigo, and then the vamp was gone. Injured pretty badly, and we couldn't chase 'cause we had to get Cas back."

"So there's a vamp running around with your scent?" she asked icily, threading the stitches with precision.

"Badly wounded," the older man, apparently Bobby, said. "He's not chasing anyone anytime soon. With any luck he'll just crawl in a hole and die."

"Wow, you guys can't do anything right without me," Dean interjected, punching the tall one casually in the shoulder.

"Shut it, jerk."

"Bitch."

"You two are adorable, but please, can I concentrate?" Eli snapped. They shut up, Dean looking down almost bashfully.

She finished stitching the first slash and started on the second. "You're doing great, love," she murmured.

He reached out with one slightly-bloodstained hand and touched her stomach. "Our child is… well?" His voice was a shock: low, almost rough, and husky, much lower than it had any right to be.

Eli took his hand. "He's fine. I am too, by the way." She smiled to temper the words.

He looked abashed. "Of course I-" He stopped. "He?"

Her grin turned into a beam. "I had a little nighttime visit from our favorite dead messenger. We're having a boy."

"You sure you should believe him?" Dean asked skeptically. "Gabe is known for his jokes."

She shook her head. "He wouldn't joke about this."

"A boy," Cas said, in an awed voice, his pain momentarily forgotten. He started to sit up, then hissed and eased himself back down.

"Name him Dean!" Dean exclaimed. Eli shot him a glare.

"For the last time, we are _not_ naming our son Dean. Don't pull the stitches," she chided Cas, fussing over him. "I'm almost done with this one."

"I'm disfigured," he rasped in his sandpaper voice, rather glumly. Dean let out a bark of laughter.

"You're human now. It's bound to happen. And at least you don't need a cast."

"Every hunter's got scars," Bobby said. "Now you're just inducted into the society."

"And they'll be gone when you die and re-angel up, just like me," Eli said, carefully starting on the third slash. "Though I think some scars are sexy. Shows you're tough."

"Oh," Cas said, watching her with huge eyes, as if the pain wasn't bothering him. "Okay, then."

"She says something is sexy and your panties drop," Dean scoffed, shaking his head. "Whipped."

"Dean, I will kill you in your sleep," Eli said nonchalantly, threading the stitches with precision. Dean huffed.

"Noted."

The minutes ticked by as Eli finished sewing up the third slash. "Okay, last one," she finally said, and held out her hand. "Sam, can you pass me the—"

Something crashed through the window next to the door.

Luke jerked back instinctively. As if the whole situation wasn't fucked up enough as it was, a man had just hurled himself through the window, sending glass flying everywhere. Sam the-tall-one dove for his bag, pulling out a rusty machete; Dean whipped a gun from his belt, as did Bobby, whose own bag was too far away to reach. The wounded Cas, just shielded his eyes, wincing. Eli vanished behind the bar.

"So much for it being _almost dead_ ," Sam muttered, crouching holding up the machete.

"How the fuck did you even get in here?" Bobby asked, training his pistol on the man. "We've got wards all over the damn place."

"I've got friends in high places," the man hissed, in a strangely sibilant voice. He was a bloody mess, his chest and face all cut and oozing, but it didn't seem to bother him. He laughed, opening his mouth far too wide, teeth lengthening, like snake about to strike.

Luke had to cover his mouth to keep from crying out. It was—impossible, crazy, unbelievable—a _vampire_.

Holy shit it was a vampire.

They weren't screaming their heads off. _Why weren't they screaming their heads off_? They were pointing guns at it, like this was normal, like…

Like they did this all the time.

They hunted monsters.

Eli hunted monsters.

Luke wanted to vomit.

Instead he whipped his camera from his bag and started snapping pictures, trying as hard as he could to stay invisible without compromising his line of sight. No one in the room noticed him; they were all too focused on the drama within.

"Yeah, well, you can tell your friends in high places to eat it," Dean said gruffly, firing off shots in quick succession. The vampire was too fast, dodging the bullets like something out of the fucking Matrix, before launching himself onto Dean and pinning him to the ground, facing away from the bar.

"Wounded and still attacking," the vampire hissed. "I heard you were fools." He fisted a hand into Dean's short hair and twisted his head to the side. Sam and Bobby lurched forward to help, but he just smiled at them.

"One more step and I break his neck," he said, his teeth still extended.

"I will kill you," Bobby snapped. The vampire laughed.

"I'd like to see you try."

Someone shot him in the head.

It only seemed to piss him off more. The vamp whirled around to face the wounded man, who had propped himself up in a half-sitting position, his right arm still holding up the gun. It growled, standing, abandoning Dean.

"Hey, assbutt," Eli said.

Three shots rang out, some kind of darts burying themselves in the vampire's back. Luke jerked his head up to see Eli standing on the bar, a rifle in her hands. The vampire shuddered and fell to the side, its already-pale face becoming ashen, its teeth shrinking back to normal size.

Eli hopped off the bar and walked over to prod the prone vamp with the toe of her boot. "You come into _my_ Roadhouse and attack my people and you don't expect me to be ready?" she asked coldly. "This is my home, motherfucker, and I keep more than dead man's blood stashed in it." She kicked him in the face, hard, four times, until teeth broke and it caved in, blood wet and messy and gushing. Finally she stepped away. "Take him out back and cut his head off, will you, boys? I've got a husband to stitch up."

They were so damn nonchalant about the whole thing. "Get his legs," Bobby barked to Sam, and together they lifted the dead weight and carried it through a side door.

Dean whistled low, grabbing onto a table and pulling himself up clumsily, his broken leg sticking out. "Still kicking ass in the second trimester," he commented. Eli laughed easily, tucking the dart-gun back behind the bar.

"Well, someone had to," she said, moving back to the injured man.

Cas was brushing shards of glass from his pants, the gun next to him. Eli let out a small sigh, inspecting his wounds. "You've pulled some stitches."

"I was being…" Cas paused, as if remembering a line. "A big damn hero."

"Oh hey, you guys finally watched Firefly," Sam said as he and Bobby walked back in the room, the machete over his shoulder tellingly bloody.

Eli started restitching what had ripped. "When I can pull him away from _Doctor Sexy_ season 15."

"It's compelling!" Cas insisted. The pills he had taken were finally taking effect, and it was like he barely felt the pain, his voice thick and eyes half closed.

Eli chuckled, then schooled her expression into one more serious and focused on her stitches. "Almost there, Cas," she murmured, tugging the thread through the ragged wounds at his chest. He hissed a little in pain, then lowered his head, his eyes closed. "Then we'll get you upstairs to bed." She paused to smile at them, a slightly watery smile. "I'm glad you're all home safe."

"I'm glad you keep a loaded rifle with dead man's blood behind the bar," Bobby said gruffly. "That's all kinds of prepared."

"Amen," Dean said, cracking open a beer. "A-freaking-men."

Someone tapped Luke on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, boy, but just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Luke bit back a scream as he stumbled back. Standing next to him was a tall man with a roguishly weathered face and faded blue eyes, his hair a messy, watered-down blond. He was dressed in a v-neck with a blazer over it, and his voice was both impeccably British and very irritated. He was carrying, oddly enough, a half-drunk martini, two olives still visible on the bottom.

"Wha…who are…" Luke sputtered. The man sighed and waved a hand, the open windows closing silently.

"You know, lurking in the bushes and taking pictures of your ex isn't exactly going to get you any points upstairs," the man pointed out. "Neither will being a giant dick."

"What are you, who…hey!" he exclaimed as the man casually took his camera. "That's my…" He trailed off as the man effortlessly balled it in his hand like it was made of tinfoil. "What _are_ you?" he squeaked, backpedaling away.

"I'm pissed off is what I am," the man snapped. "Little hairless ape. Do you have any idea what I was in the middle of? No, of course you don't, your tiny brain can't even comprehend it. And you obviously don't have any idea who they are, do you?" He stabbed his finger in the direction of the closed window.

"Uh, they hunt monsters," Luke sad shakily. "Are you a monster? Please don't kill me!"

" _Hunt monsters_ ," the man said mockingly. "Saved the bloody world is more like it. More than once. Even more importantly, saved my precious ass." He took a step forward, suddenly menacing. "Maybe I should…"

"Balthazar," another voice said. Luke spun around to see a woman standing there, her light brown hair pulled away from her face. She was dressed in a suit and looked hassled. "Enough."

Balthazar let out a frustrated noise. "Oh come on, Rachel, he—"

"Do you think the Lady will be happy to find out that you smited her friend?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "Now come on, the Seraphims are talking of starting a union."

"Oh, bloody hell," Balthazar muttered. He glared at Luke. "You better feel damn lucky, you little cretin."

"Bathalazar," she said again, exasperated. He sighed and downed his martini.

"All right, enough of this. I need another drink."

Before Luke could move the strange man touched two fingers to his forehead and everything faded to black.

* * *

Luke Preston woke on the bathroom floor of his motel room, his stomach rumbling queasily. He still couldn't figure out how he had gotten that food poisoning, but even after 24 hours he was still hugging the toilet bowl like the rest of his crew.

As if on cue, he leaned over and wretched. He couldn't wait to just get out of this damn town. It felt important, somehow, to leave, to put this place behind him and never look back.

It's not like there was anything to miss here, anyway.

 


	25. Epilogue Part 1: The Death

 

 

Winni Grant would never forget the moment she saw her grandmother in the coffin.

It barely looked like her: the skin all waxy and plastic, the hair stiff and sprayed. Her eyes were closed peacefully, as if sleeping, but all Winni could think of was how they were actually glued shut, so that they wouldn't drift open during the wake.

Winni started to cry, whimpering little gasps of tears. She touched her grandmother's hand, then immediately recoiled; it was cold, and hard, formaldehyde pumped in the veins instead of blood.

"I'll miss you, Grandma," Winni choked out, her voice raspy. "I'll miss you so much. I hope you were right, about Heaven. You always said that when you died, you would become an angel. I hope you're an angel right now." She grazed the cross that lay heavy on her grandmother's chest. "I love you."

Then she turned and stumbled away, nearly knocking into a distinguished-looking man in a camel-hair coat. "Sorry," she muttered. He smiled gently.

"No problem at all, my dear," he said in a British accent, handing her a handkerchief. "Here, keep it."

"Thanks," she said, cupping the soft material in her hands, but the man was already gone, striding across the room toward a bored-looking man in a dark coat and even darker sunglasses.

Tears flooded her eyes anew. She wiped them away almost angrily, sinking down next to her brother on a sofa and dipping her head so that her long brown hair covered her face. She was always too emotional, too prone to cry and pout. She was seventeen now; she had to stop acting like such a baby.

A shrill beeping sounded from her left; Winni turned, elbowing her brother in the ribs. "Chess! Shut that damn thing off!"

He sank deeper into the couch, his eyes covered by red video goggles, his fingers ticking frantically at the air as he controlled the game. "No."

"At least turn the sound off," she hissed. "Jeez, Chess, it's grandma's wake."

Without a word the machine went silent, his hands dropping to his lap but still jerking spasmodically as he continued to play. His shock of messy black hair was sticking up like splayed fingers, his eyes red and sore. His breathing was shaky and every once in a while he sniffled, but he wouldn't take off the goggles. Winni guessed it was just a twelve-year-old's way of coping.

"How are you guys holding up?"

Winni's mother perched next to her on the couch and the teen fell into her arms, breathing in the soft, reassuring scent of her flowery perfume. "Fine, I guess," she mumbled, trying not to cry. Her mother stroked her hair.

"Oh, sweetie, it'll be over soon."

"Yeah, and then you're gonna _burn_ her," Chess snapped morosely from his game. Their mother sighed.

"Everyone in our family is cremated, you know that," she said. "It's a very personal and honorable…"

"Doesn't change the fact that they're going to fucking _burn_ her," Chess said, his words less intimidating by the fact that his voice was still squeaky with puberty. He finally pushed the goggles to the top of his head and replaced them with thick black glasses, revealing brilliantly blue eyes, their Grandfather's eyes. Aunt Dee's eyes.

"Chester John Grant, I did not just hear that word come out of your mouth," hissed their father, walking up to them with swift strides. Several heads had turned curiously at Chess' outburst. "At your Grandmother's wake. People are _watching_."

"Yeah, because that's all you care about," Chess muttered. Their dad reached over and snatched the goggles from his head.

"We'll talk about your behavior later, young man," he said in a low voice. "Until then, you sit here and stay quiet and _show some respect._ Do you understand me?"

"Where's Aunt Dee?" Chess said, seemingly to provoke him. Their father glared thunderously, his green eyes sharp; how a man could be so intimidating with so many freckles, Winni would never figure out.

"Who knows," he said. "And you would do well to learn to never count on your Aunt being there when you need her." He turned on his heel and walked away.

Winni waited until her mother stood and followed him, then sighed. "You shouldn't piss him off like that," she said disapprovingly. "It's his mom that just died."

"Like he gave two shits about her," Chess said, rubbing at his reddened eyes.

"He loved her very much," Winni insisted. Chess gave a harsh laugh.

"Yeah, that's why we had to visit her in secret the past couple years. He wouldn't even let her tell us bedtime stories anymore, or give us books, or anything. You know I found a whole stack of presents from her, hidden in the basement? Awesome stuff. Talismans and books on demonology…"

"Grandma did love that stuff," she said fondly. "Grandpa too."

"Hmph," Chess said noncommittally. He had been only six when their grandpa died; he barely remembered the man, except for brief images of running sticky fingers through dark hair, identical to his father's and his own except streaked heavily with silver, and blue eyes, calming and piercing. That and his trench coat, which smelled like thunderstorms and fabric softener, its copious depths always containing candy and small treats for the delighted grandchildren.

"You would have loved him," Winni said warmly. "God, they were so much in love, even to the end. I remember when we used to go to the Roadhouse for Sunday brunch, and great-uncles Dean and Sam would be there, and Aunt Dee would serve Bloody Mary's to them and Grandpa couldn't hold his liquor at all…" She trailed off, noticing the closed look on Chess' face. "Oh. I'm sorry, Chess, if I…"

"It's fine," he said shortly. "I just don't need to be hearing about any more dead people right now."

"Gotcha," Winni said, then proceeded to simply sit and stare into space. Those deaths were still fresh in their minds: Great-Uncle Dean had died two years ago, Sam only six months later. She missed the two crotchety old men with an ache that was almost tangible: the way they always smelled of leather and old cars, how they taught her how to cheat at poker and pool, and fix an engine, and throw a grown man over her shoulder. They bought her cherry cokes when she visited the Roadhouse and told her the same stories that her grandparents did, about ghosts and wendigos and shapeshifters, angels and demons.

Towards the end, after Grandpa died, Grandma had even started insisting that she was an angel, and would return to them after death. She didn't even cry at Grandpa's wake, just touched his hand and muttered: "Die first, will you? Well, I'm gonna make you wait as long as possible to see me. Payback's a bitch." That's when dad stopped letting them visit her.

"Ew, someone did a _terrible_ job on the embalming," said a youthful voice, a little too loudly, from somewhere near the coffin. Winni looked over, but a large flower arrangement was blocking her view of whoever was speaking. "I mean, look at it! It's _gross._ Like plastic."

"Keep your voice down," said another voice, this one low and masculine, like gravel, and oddly familiar. "I don't see why you wanted to come to this anyway."

"Oh come _on_ , it's not every day you get to see your own wake!" the first voice said brightly, and Winni raised an eyebrow. "It's pretty neat."

" _Neat_ is not exactly the word I'd use."

"Cas, don't be such a spoilsport. Oh look, Az and Crowley are here to pay their respects! Let's say hi."

Winni had shot up at the word _Cas_ , but when she peered around the flower arrangement, there was no one there.

"Did you hear that?" Winni asked, sitting back down. Chess looked at her blankly.

"Hear what?"

Suddenly hands covered her eyes and familiar voice asked: "Guess who?"

Chess answered for her. "Aunt Dee!" he exclaimed loudly, making heads turn. "You made it!"

"Hey kiddo," their Aunt laughed, removing her hands from Winni's eyes and tackling him in a bear hug. "Come'ere. Oof, you're _huge_. You're gonna be taller than your dad, I think."

He giggled delightedly—actually _giggled_ , like a little boy—as she swung him around in her arms. "I'm gonna be able to kick his ass someday!" he proclaimed.

"That you are," she said, setting him down and turned to Winni. "Oh, baby doll, look at _you_." She wrapped Winni in a hug, the smell of her leather jacket comforting. Winni had to resist the urge to start bawling again. "You're beautiful." Aunt Dee cupped Winni's face in her hand, studying her closely. "You have your grandmother's green eyes," she murmured. "And your grandfather's nose. You're all grown up, Win-Win."

Winni gave her a watery smile, tucking her brown hair behind her ears. "Thanks, Aunt Dee. You're looking gorgeous, as usual."

Aunt Dee preened and twirled, like they weren't standing in a funeral home in the middle of a wake. "Why thank you, darlin'," she said, flipping her white-blonde hair behind her shoulder and batting her ice-blue eyes. "Lucky for me your dad got all of the boring qualities, eh?"

"Deana!"

"Speak of the devil…" Aunt Dee muttered with a wink as Winni's dad came striding over to them. "Hey Charlie," she said casually. "Looks like I made it, despite your efforts."

"Deana, this is a wake," he said sternly. "You can't just come barging in here and…"

"She was my mother too!" Aunt Dee hissed, suddenly angry. "I stuck by her to the end, and I…"

"We should have this conversation in private," he said with a glance at his kids, grabbing her arm and dragging her away. Winni and Chess shared a look, then simultaneously rose and followed them.

Their dad had pulled Aunt Dee into the prep room, a curtained-off area where particularly emotional guests were put to compose themselves. It was easy to squat behind a huge flower arrangement, huddled together like they did when they were very young, and peer through a gap in the heavy curtain.

Charles was pacing the room while Dee merely stood there with crossed arms and smile that didn't reach her eyes. Finally he stopped, and there was something almost ashamed in the heavy curve of his shoulders.

"How did you hear?" he asked finally. Dee sighed and uncrossed her arms, sitting down on a small white couch, her blonde hair a knotted mane around her face.

"The hunter community is pretty well-connected, Charlie. The news of losing the last of their greatest warriors spread like wildfire. Which you would have known had you kept any contact with them, or helped with the Roadhouse at all."

"You know that's not my…"

"I know. I get it, really I do. You want a normal life for your kids. But come on, Charlie. You didn't…you didn't even call to tell me that our own mother died. I had to hear about it from Bubba Rex in the middle of a nest of vampires. Am I that embarrassing to you that you didn't want me at her wake?"

Winni and Chess shared an open-mouthed look. Inside the room, Charles sank down onto a small white couch and hung his head in his hands.

"That's not it, Deana, you know it's not. I wanted you here. But the way…the way you talk about mom, like she's coming back… I didn't want you to upset the children. Chester is emotional enough as it is, and Winni…you know how close she was with mom. They would be so easily convinced of your stories…"

"They're not stories, and you know it," Dee said with a chill in her voice. "Mom _is_ coming back. Dad too."

"They are _stories_ , fables," Charles said, sounding exasperated. She frowned at him

"After everything we grew up seeing you're gonna say that this is a fable? Really, Charlie? Now who's deluded."

"Yes, we've seen some strange things, and yes, a lot of stuff exists that most people would call fables. But Dee, open your eyes. Angels? Really? You and I know that if anything comes back it comes back wrong, and angels…"

"What about Sam and Dean?" Dee challenged. "Both of them died a bunch of times and came back just fine."

"God, Dee, that was old men exaggerating. You really think Dean and Sam went to _hell_? You really think that they stopped the _apocalypse?_ And this angel crap—why do you think it didn't come up until after Dad died? She was going senile. She missed him and she wanted him back. That's all."

"So you'll admit the existence of werewolves and not angels?"

"Werewolves are real, and who knows, maybe angels are too. But I can guarantee you that our mom and dad were not angels."

"Yes they were."

"Mom's body is lying right there!" he finally shouted, pointing at the curtain, voice hoarse with pain and exhaustion. "Dad's is ashes! How can you say…"

"They won't come back in their bodies, Charlie," Dee said calmly. He shook his head, black hair sticking up madly.

"Dee, if they ever come back, it will be as ghosts, and we'll be salting and burning anything of theirs we can find."

Dee's hands shook, like she was suppressing the urge to slap him. "Well, you're right about one thing," she said coldly. He gave her a flat look.

"And what would that be?"

"You probably didn't want me here, if you're trying to keep your children from knowing their heritage." She smirked, like a snake about to strike. "They're behind the curtain. They've been listening to us this whole time."

Winni and Chess fled, disappearing around the corner and into the sweet freedom of the outside just as their father stuck his head out and. All he saw was a glimpse, a swing of brown hair, the edge of an ankle.

"Fuck."

* * *

Winni collapsed on the ground three blocks away, under an old oak tree; Chess dropped down next to her, surprisingly neat despite his too-long, skinny limbs.

"What. The hell. Was That?" he asked, gasping for breath and pushing his glasses back up his sweaty nose. Winni shook her head.

"I have no idea."

"Are they saying… were they saying all that stuff is _true_? The demons and vampires and werewolves and… and angels, and… and _wendigos_ and shtriga? Oh my God, Win, is the shtriga real?"

"I don't know, Chess."

"And the ghost sickness, and the Croatoan virus, and the pagan gods, and the shapeshifters, and Bloody Mary, and…"

" _I don't know!"_ Winni yelled. Chess just kept right on babbling.

"Hunters too…do we come from hunters? Oh my GOD, fuck yes, Winni, oh my God _Winni_ , we're hunters, Dee is a hunter… that means _Dad_ was a hunter, Sam and Dean, and Grandma and Grandpa, and did they say something about Dean going to hell?"

"Calm down, Chess, before you give yourself another asthma attack," Winni said sharply. As if on cue he whipped out his inhaler and stuck it in his mouth. "We need to think about this logically," she continued, tucking her hair behind her ears and staring down at the thick summer grass with a small frown. "Who know what this means…"

Chess popped the inhaler out of his mouth. "It means we're _hunters_ , Win."

"Well _we're_ not," she said. "But if Dad and Aunt Dee were, and Grandma and Grandpa were…"

"Then we could be," Chess finished triumphantly. "Come on Win, don't try and pretend you're not stoked about this."

Winni found herself grinning, the smile spreading over her face without her consent. "Hunters," she said softly. "Well I'll be damned."

* * *

The funeral was the next day.

Charles had still not confronted his children about what they had heard in the funeral home, instead resigning himself to stern looks and _we'll talk about this later_.

It was bright and hot outside, the sky a clear summer blue, the sun fat and yellow and simmering. Winni was sweating in her sleeveless black dress; Chess even more so in his suit, his dark hair stubbornly refusing to lay flat no matter how much gel their mother put in it. He looked smaller in the suit, all knobby limbs and delicate bones. Winni couldn't see a hunter in him, though she wanted to. She couldn't see a hunter in herself, for that matter, with her pianist's hands and big goofy ears and weak ankles. But if she wanted it enough, if she worked enough, maybe…

Something colorful caught her attention, a flash of bright green that tore her eyes away from the dark suits and the pastor's dry drawl. She looked beyond them all, to a house-sized mausoleum about sixty yards away, and saw it: a young couple perched on top of the marble structure.

The woman had sun-yellow hair in two buns on top of her hair, her green summer dress flaring at her knees and showing off long pale legs and bare feet. She was laughing without sound, her head thrown back, one hand resting on the thigh of the man next to her. He was more somber, with his messy black hair and stiff shoulders, wearing a trench coat and suit despite the heat, his shoes highly polished. Despite this, Winni could see the gentle slope of his mouth tilted upward into an amused half-smile, and when the woman tilted her head toward his to speak into his ear his whole face relaxed into something positively joyful.

As if sensing her stare, his blue eyes locked onto Winni's, and she sucked in a breath at the intense familiarity of that piercing gaze. His mouth moved, and the woman's eyes shot up as well, and for a moment all Winni could see was green green, emerald as the summer trees, and again so familiar.

The woman beamed, and waved. Winni waved back, shyly.

She was pretty sure she knew who they were now.

"Chess!" she hissed, elbowing her brother in the ribs. "Look!"

"What?" he whispered out of the side of his mouth. The sun was staining his pale cheeks a flushed red, the first tell-tale signs of a sunburn. He looked hot and uncomfortable, and a little sick, sweat shining on his forehead and dripping down his nose.

"Look at those people!" she said as quietly as she could. "Don't they look like…"

"What people?" he asked, looking around. Winni glanced up at the mausoleum, but the two figures were gone.

* * *

"I _swear_ , Chess, it was Grandma and Grampa! But, like, young!"

Chess looked at her skeptically. "I don't know, Win, I can believe a lot of things, but are you sure…"

"It was them!" she insisted. "I know it. C'mon Chess, you were the one who was just freaking out about us being hunters. You have to believe me."

"I want to, I do," he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "All I'm saying is…well, we have to consider the possibility…"

"What? That I'm crazy?" Winni asked petulantly, crossing her arms and resisting the urge to stamp her foot like a child.

" _That they were other relatives,"_ Chess stressed. "I mean, so they looked familiar. Maybe they were just relatives we never met."

"He was wearing a trench coat!" Winni yelled. Chess shrugged.

"Lots of people wear trench coats."

"Why don't you want to believe this?" Winni demanded. "Dee said…"

"Yeah, well, Dee's not the most reliable person in the world," Chess snapped, and Winni was surprised to see his huge blue eyes fill up with tears. "I can't, Win, I miss them too much and I can't believe if it's not true and just get let down _again_."

"Oh, Chessie," Winni said, pulling him into her arms and letting her still-shorter brother sniffle into her shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. I get it. I'm sorry for pushing it."

"Don't call me Chessie," he mumbled into her shirt, before pulling away and adjusting his glasses. "And I'm fine. No chick flick moments."

"No chick flick moments," Winni agreed, smiling. "C'mon, lets go eat some of the million and one casseroles we got in the freezer."

 


	26. Epilogue 2: The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thank you for reading!_

 

 

 

"Dee? Can I talk to you?"

It was nighttime, and Dee was sitting in the dark in Charles' study, the moon shining silver through the big bay windows and illuminating her worn and drawn face. She started when Winni spoke, and immediately flicked on the desk lamp, bathing the room in a warm yellow glow.

"Of course, sweetie," Dee said, wiping her eyes. "Come on in."

Winni edged into the room, wringing her hands. "Dee, I saw something today and I…I don't know who else to talk to. I want it to be true, I do, but I don't know…"

"Calm down, hon, and start from the beginning," Dee said, patting the cushion next to her.

Winni took a deep breath and perched on the edge of the couch. "It was at the funeral…no, wait. It started at the wake. I heard these voices, these familiar voices, and the one said…" She stopped abruptly, realizing how crazy she was going to sound.

"Said what, Win?" Dee pushed gently. "You can't say anything I haven't heard before, believe me. Go on."

"It said: _It's not every day you get to go to your own wake_ ," Winni said, stumbling over her words a little. "Then it…she called the other person _Cas_. I got up to look but they were gone."

Dee leaned forward, suddenly interested. "Is that all?"

Winni shook her head, tugging at the ends of her long ponytail. "At…at the funeral, I _saw_ them, two people. They were young and…happy. He was wearing a trench coat."

"What did they look like, Win?" Dee asked sharply. "Tell me exactly."

Winni reached for the side table, picking up a framed photograph with shaking hands. Silently she handed it to her aunt.

It was a picture of her Grandparents, back in 2013, three years before Charles was born. They were in front of the still-unfinished Roadhouse; she was on his back, covered in paint, in overalls with a bandana around her head, waving a huge paintbrush victoriously. He was looking up at her, amused, arms wrapped under her knees to hold her up, a faint smile at the edge of his mouth, paint dripping onto his hair.

Dee's face drained of color before her cheeks flushed brilliant red. "You're sure?" she asked breathily. Winni nodded.

"I swear, Aunt Dee, it was them. I'm _positive_." She hesitated. "Dee, I heard you and Dad, at the funeral…"

Dee smiled at her, putting the picture down and taking her niece's hand. "What do you want to know?"

"Is it true?" Winni blurted out. "Are we hunters? Is all that stuff real? Really real?"

Dee pursed her lips, then nodded. "Not a word to your dad," she said sternly. "He'd kill me if he knew I was telling you this. But you're seventeen and you have a right to know." She looked Winni straight in the eyes. "It's all true, Win. All of my parents' stories, every scary story you've ever heard. It's real."

"Is that why…" Winni asked, lifting up her shirt to show the anti-possession tattoo her grandmother had taken her to get when she was fourteen. Dee laughed.

"Yeah. Your dad threw a _fit_ when he saw it. Said the necklaces he gave you were enough. Mom gave him such a dressing down." She smiled fondly. "She always could put him in his place."

"So you think, I mean, the people I saw—were they ghosts?" Winni asked, almost fearfully. Dee frowned, shaking her head.

"I don't think so, Win."

The doorbell rang.

Winni shifted and waited for someone to answer it. When no one did and it rang again she huffed irritably. "Chess!" she shouted. "Get the door, jerk!"

"Why is it always me!" her brother yelled from the kitchen. Winni stood up and went to the study door.

"Just do it, assface!"

"Loser!"

"Butthead!"

"Bitch!"

The doorbell rang again.

"For the love of God!" their father yelled. "Chess!"

Chess grumbled and went to answer the door.

He sullenly pulled it open, his video game goggles still hanging from one hand. Then his eyes widened and he dropped them, the plastic skidding across the ground.

A man and a woman stood on the doorstep. He was wearing a trench coat and a navy tie, black hair tousled and messy, his eyes a very deep, penetrating blue. She had on a green dress with sandals, her hair loose around her face; freckles covered her nose and cheeks, and her eyes, when Chess finally looked at them, were the same color of her dress, the brilliant green of high summer.

The woman bent to pick up his goggles, handing them back to him with a smile. "Hi, Chester," she said. "It's so good to see you."

Chess' fingers closed around the goggles automatically. "What—I—who are you?" he asked, his face very white, darting his eyes between the two. "Are you…you're like, relatives, right? Here for the funeral?"

"In a manner of speaking," the man rasped. The woman leaned forward and touched the twelve-year-old's shoulder.

"My white knight," she said softly.

Chess stared at her for a second, his mouth hanging open. _White Knight_ had been his grandmother's nickname for him, a pun on both his chess-related name and the fact that they always used to play together, he white, she black. No one else ever called him that. He remembered what Winni said at the funeral.

"…Grandma?" he whispered hoarsely. His eyes slid over to the man in the suit, the man with Chess' eyes and hair, and Winni's nose. "Grandpa?"

"It is good to see you, Chester," the man said formally. "It's been a long time."

Chess stared at them a moment longer, then skittered away and began to holler.

"Dad, Mom, Dee, Win, _someone_ , get the salt, there are fucking ghosts in the house, oh my God, oh my God!"

Eli sunk her face into her hands. " _Not_ the reaction I was hoping for," she muttered.

The foyer was suddenly full of people. Dee and Winni came crashing in from the den, while Charles charged in from the kitchen, his hand clutching a container of salt. Chess and Winni's mother, Doreen, edged curiously down the stairs. All of them stopped abruptly at the sight of the couple on the threshold.

Dee was the first to speak. "I knew it!" she squealed. "Mom, _Dad_ —" She moved as if to approach them but Charles blocked her way.

"Don't be stupid, Dee, of course it's not them," he snarled, his face white. He turned to them. "How dare you wear their faces, come in to my home, talk to my children? What are you?"

"Well technically we're not _in_ your home," Eli pointed out lightly. "No one invited us. Rude, if you ask me." She stepped inside and everyone edged back.

"You—" Charles started furiously. Castiel stepped beside his wife, looking disapproving.

"Eli, they're scared. Don't toy with them." He looked at his children and his face softened. "Charles. Deanna. My children."

"You're _not_ —"

"We are, Charles," Eli said. "And you know it. But if you want proof…"

The room suddenly went dark. Winni screamed. Lightning flashed, and there on the wall behind them were wings, huge and brimming with grace. Everyone could feel it in their bones, washing away their doubts.

These were angels.

The lights came back on. Dee finally rushed to them, flinging her arms around both like a little girl. "Mom, Daddy, I knew it, I told them!" She was laughing and crying at the same time, burying her face in Castiel's shoulder.

Castiel stroked her hair. "Deanna. My faithful one. You live up to your namesake."

Charles was just standing there. All of the color had drained out of his face. Eli approached him.

"Charlie…"

"Don't call me that," he said dully, automatically. He dropped the salt, letting it spill on the carpet. His fingers reached up, tentatively touching her arm. "I…Mom?" he croaked. Eli nodded.

He staggered forward and she drew him into a hug, cradling him gently. "I'm sorry," he sobbed, clutching her waist, and she knew it was for everything he had done, the years she couldn't see her grandchildren, his anger, his disbelief. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"It's okay," she whispered. "I forgive you. Oh, love. It's okay."

Eli led him to the group. Castiel was swinging Chester in a circle, and Winni was chasing him around and around, her brown hair whipping behind her, her face flushed with disbelief and elation. Castiel was laughing, that rare joyful laugh, and he was smiling, in his newly-made replica vessel, and Eli loved him as much as she ever had.

Doreen was watching the whole thing with a sort of awed bemusement. Eli smiled at her. "Hi, Doree. You okay?"

She nodded, tucking brown hair behind her ear. "My Mother-in-Law is an angel."

"Hard to believe, I know."

"I know werewolves and vampires and other monsters exist. This is…good," Doreen said carefully. "Mind-breaking, but good."

Eli beamed. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

"Grandma!"

The two kids nearly knocked her over with their attack, both hugging her tightly. Eli laughed. "Oh, my darlings, you're so _beautiful_." She kissed them, all over their faces. "Wasn't it just yesterday that you were in diapers?"

"You still sound like a grandmother," Dee said dryly. "Even after death."

That sobered everyone up a little. Now that the immediate insane joy had passed the weirdness was setting in. Eli sighed, cradling her grandchildren to her. "I suppose we'd better explain," she said. She glanced at Castiel and he frowned, that furrowed line appearing between his eyebrows. "Come on, everyone. This might take a while."

* * *

It was almost sunrise when Eli found him sitting on the back porch, hands laced over his knees, staring unblinking into the dark.

"You look just like your father when you sit like that," she said, dropping down next to him, her summer dress flaring around her.

"Why does it have to be them," he asked in a ragged voice. Eli sighed and took his hand.

"Because it has to be, Charlie."

"Don't call me that."

"You were named after both your grandfathers," she said lightly. "You should be proud of that."

He made a small, troubled sound. "I wanted to get away from hunting," he said, but leaned into her nonetheless. "I wanted them to have a normal life."

"Did you ever think about what they want?"

He looked at her, hard. "They're just kids, Mom."

"They're Grants. There are no Winchesters anymore. We're what's left of the great warriors. Charles, you're descended from angels."

"I thought there was no fate anymore," he said bitterly. "No destiny."

"There'll always be just a little bit of destiny," she said. "If we want the world to keep turning."

"Mom, they're my _children._ "

Eli stroked his hair. "Love, I know. And I'll be watching out for them every step of the way." She paused. "We're not throwing them into a vampire nest, Charlie. We just want to train them. When they're of age they can decide for themselves."

He looked at her desperately, his eyes red, suddenly a little boy again. She remembered him hiding behind her leg in the Roadhouse when he was four years old, refusing to come near anyone but his parents or Sam and Dean. He had loved Sam especially, sitting on his shoulders whenever he could, pretending that he was flying. "Promise?"

"I promise," she said seriously. "If they want out, they get out. But we have to at least give them that choice."

He nodded, quiet. Then: "I am sorry, Mom. I wanted-I wanted to believe that you were crazy, because if it were true I could just forget all of the things that you said. I could make all of the monsters and hunts just a bad dream that I used to have. I could be safe."

"You are safe. Safer than ever." Eli kissed his hair. "You've got angels on your shoulders."

* * *

Deanna was drinking a beer on the front porch swing, rocking herself back and forth and looking out at her brother's perfectly manicured lawn.

"You should be kind to him," a familiar low voice said. "He is confused, and he is not the hunter that you are."

Deanna smiled up at him. "Hi Daddy. Come here, sit with me."

Castiel sat next to her on the swing and she used her boot to push it from the wall. She leaned into his shoulder. "I missed you. But I never gave up hope."

He wrapped his arm around her. "I know. You are so brave, my Deanna." He paused. "But be kind to your brother."

He always did know what she was thinking. Deanna rested her cheek against his trench coat. "But Dad, what he did, especially after you were gone…"

"I know."

"He put mom in a _home_ ," she said passionately, sitting up. "He said she was _crazy_. He didn't teach his kids anything, didn't even tell them the supernatural exists! He ran away and left me to take care of the Roadhouse and treated me like this black sheep all these years…"

"I know. And you must forgive him."

"Why?" she asked, rubbing angry tears from her face. Castiel looked at her evenly.

"Because he is your brother."

"He's a dick is what he is."

"Be that as it may," Castiel said, with the hint of a smile. "He is your brother, and you love him. And he needs you, now."

Deanna looked at him sharply. "Why?"

Castiel sighed, furrowing his brow. It was strange, looking at him like this, young and handsome, with no scars, but somehow exactly the same as always. She figured it was the voice, and the eyes, that elusive blue color that almost seemed to glow in the dark. Those things never changed. "He's just learned a very hard truth. He's upset, and confused. And his children need someone to show them how to be hunters. They need someone to guide them as their father can't."

Deanna gaped. "Me? Dad, I love them and everything, but my life…"

"Is about to change," he said gently. "For the better, I promise. And it will be good practice."

She looked at him suspiciously. "For what?"

Castiel gave her a side-eye, sneaky look. "As your mother would say, spoilers." She glared at him and he laughed quietly. "You're still young, Deanna. I doubt you'll be a lone wolf forever."

Her eyes widened, her hands instinctively going to her stomach. "Not…now," she croaked in a scared voice. He shook his head.

"Someday. Find love, first. Find peace." He rested his hand on her shoulder. "You have a very bright future, my faithful one."

"Will you…stay," she said softly. "Here, with us?"

He shook his head. "But we'll be watching over you. And we'll be there, when you need us."

"Dad…" Her eyes were filling up with tears again. "I need you all the time!"

He kissed her forehead. "I'm with you all the time," he murmured. "We both are. You'll just have to pay attention."

* * *

They stayed for a few more hours. Eli produced John Winchester's journal and Doreen made cookies, and they all sat around pouring over the old pages, the adults drinking beer. They reminisced.

_("The first time I met Sam and Dean was at Bobby's house, right as he was telling a joke, and they had been driving all night. I was just this little smartass and Dean hated it...")_

And later:

_("There was an angel, her name was Anna, and she saved my life when my brother turned on me...")_

And:

_("Then there was that time Cas malotoved the devil...")_

_("I didn't know that assbutt wasn't an acceptable insult.")_

_("...and drank a liquor store.")_

_("Eli will tell you only the embarrassing stories.")_

_("Shut up! But really... we saved the world -")_

_("-several times.")_

They knew that they would have to tell the other stories later, the hard stories, the ones that only had blood and pain and loss of life. The ones that almost broke their spirit. The ones that ended in depression and cremation. They would tell those stories, and watch as the ones they loved lived them, watch as one of their children died young, as their grandchildren grew up and clung to each other in the same way the Winchesters once had, because they needed the other to survive, because hunting was a terrible, terrible job.

But not tonight. Tonight there was beer and cookies, and the Grants were simply a chosen family.

Finally, the cookies ran out.

The lights flickered.

"Really, could you take any longer," a snarky voice said from behind them. "We've waited a whole human lifetime, we're getting antsy. I want to get back to my life of casual debauchery, thank you very much."

Everyone turned to stare at the weathered British man with an old-fashioned v-neck shirt on, one of the newly engineered glowing martinis in his hand. A woman was next to him, looking pleased.

"It's time to come home, you two," she said.

"Balthazar," Castiel greeted the man. "Rachel…" He looked at her. "You seem different."

Balthazar grinned smugly. "Finally got the stick out of her ass. I'm telling you, brother, it was a _lot_ of work." Rachel glared at him and he quailed. "Oh, wait, there it is. Never mind."

"These are angels?" Charles and Deanna said simultaneously, Deanna with a kind of brimming enthusiasm, Charles with a twinge of righteous horror.

"Oh look, they're doing the doublemint twin thing," Balthazar said, resting his elbow on Rachel's shoulder with familiarity. "I swear, your family is becoming more like the Winchesters every day." His gaze fell on Winni, causing her to blush. "Hello, Winifred."

"No," Castiel and Eli said together, sharply. He held up his hands.

"What? I'm just saying hello."

Rachel was scowling. "It's time, Castiel, Lady Elijah," she said. "We're waiting for you. Everyone."

"Everyone?" Eli asked, smiling. Rachel nodded.

"Everyone."

Goodbyes were said. Eli and Castiel hugged them all. Eli knelt between Winni and Chess, wrapping her arms around them simultaneously. "I love you so much," she said fiercely.

"We love you, too," they mumbled, crying. Winni pressed her face to her grandmother's hair, breathing her in. She smelled bright and clean, like the air after a storm.

"You'll be back though, right, Grandma?" Chess asked weakly, pushing his glasses up his nose. She nodded.

"Whenever you need me," she promised. "My white knight."

Castiel was with Charles and Deanna. "Be good to each other," he said solemnly. "You're family."

They nodded. Then Charles blurted out, almost shyly: "Love you, Dad."

"I love you, Daddy," Deanna said, grinning through her tears.

"And I, you," he said, kissing each of their foreheads.

When it was all over Eli and Castiel joined Rachel and Balthazar. Eli took her soulmate's hand. "What was it that we said, the first time around, after Lucifer and the apocalypse that wasn't?" she asked him. "It's been real…"

"…but I think it's time for us to go," he finished softly, looking at her with those bright blue eyes.

"Home," she said, lacing her fingers in his, feeling absolute love and joy wash over her at the sight of him, the only one she'd ever loved, the only face that she wanted to wake up next to for the rest of eternity, even if they didn't technically need sleep.

He smiled at her, that crinkle-eyed soft look, and bent his head to her ear. "Home," he said, his breath ghosting over her skin.

In the background, Balthazar made a gagging noise. Eli laughed, throwing her head back and her arms around Castiel, and that was when the light wrapped them up.

There was a moment, a brief brief moment when it looked like other figures stood with them in the light: Two familiar men, young again, in flannel and beat-up jackets, one ridiculously tall, the other with messy hair and a cocky smile on his lips. And then, in the fraction of a second too short to even be real, there were others, hosts of them, all young: A man with a beard and a ball cap, his arms around a young woman with yellow hair; a sturdy-looking man with dark skin and serious eyes; two women, a mother and a daughter, with pretty faces and bright smiles; a young couple, he with dark hair and blue eyes, she with blonde hair that trailed down her back; a pleased-looking, floppy haired man with wings, munching on a candy bar, and next to him a skinny girl in a toga-like dress and high-top sneakers; another young couple, with traces of Eli in both their faces; a man with a reddish beard and impossibly wise eyes, overlapping with a short woman who, despite her shiny dark hair and slanted blue eyes, looked somehow identical to him. There were others, and names, too, like whispers rushing out of the ocean, names like prayers. _John. Mary. Jess. Ellen. Jo. Rufus. Bobby. Karen. Adam. Charles. Laura. Samuel. Pamela. Ash. Andy. Missouri. Gabriel. Aeliana. Lucy. Chuck._

_Sam. Dean._

Winni watched as the light rushed them up and away, the final vision of her grandmother and grandfather floating in front of her eyes as a hazy afterimage long after they were gone. She wrapped her arm around her younger brother, and felt the tears drip off of her chin before she even knew that she was crying.

They were going to save people. They were going to hunt things. The family business.

Winni grinned through her tears. This was a _fabulous_ beginning.

* * *

**_It's the end of the world as we know it.  
_ **

**_And I feel fine.  
_ **

* * *

**The End**

 

 


End file.
